LHGfWED  am  STEEL  FOR  OUR  HOME. 


THE  VESHON    OF  LHFE, 


Otir  Home 


OR 


Emanating  Influences  of  the  Hearthstone, 

BY 

CHARLES  E.  J3ARGENT,  M.A., 

WITH    THE    CO-OPERATION    OF 

REV.  WILLIAM  H.  WITHROW,  D.D., 

HENRY  W.  RUOFF,  M.A.,  PH.D., 

REV.  WILLARD  E.   WATERBURY,  B.D., 

AND  FRANK  N.  SEERLEY,  M.D. 

EDITED    BY 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  M.A.,  F.R.S.C.,  F.R.S.L. 

Author  "History  of  Canada"  "  Orion,"  "  Beausejour,"  "  EartVs  Enigmas"  etc.,  etc. 


I  ILLUSTRATED. 


PUBLISHED  IN  ENGLISH  AND  GERMAN. 


KIing=Richiarcison  Co. 

vE>  F*I^  I  ^IGrt^I  fry  IvE) ,      3VI -^-^.  53  s3  • 

RICHMOND.  DES  MOINES.  INDIANAPOLIS.  SAN  JOSE. 

DALLAS.  TOLEDO. 

1898. 

Pv 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  ninety-nine, 

BY  THE  KING-RICHARDSON  COMPANY, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Parliament  of  Canada,  in  the  year  1899, 

BY  THE  KING-RICHARDSON  COMPANY, 

At  the  Department  of  Agriculture. 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED. 


May   peace  be   in   thy   home 

And  joy   ^?vithin   thy    heart. 


Issued  by  subscription  only  and  not  for  sale  at  the  bookstores. 


Biographical   Notes  of   Au.th.ors. 


CHARLES  E.  SARGENT,  M.A., 
Author  of  "  Education  and  Evolution,"  etc. 

Graduate  of  Bates  College;  received  the  degree  of  M.A.  from  same  institution; 
pursued  post-graduate  studies  in  Yale  University ;  before  graduation  and  subsequently 
was  a  teacher  and  public  lecturer.  He  is  an  educator  of  note,  an  independent  thinker, 
and  a  graphic,  forceful  ^vriter. 

» •  • 

REV.  WILLIAM  H.  WITHROW,  D.D.,  F.R.S.C., 

Editor  "  Methodist  Magazine  and  Review,"  etc,  etc,  Canada. 

Educated  at  Victoria  University  and  the  University  of  Toronto,  Canada;  degree 
of  M.A.  in  1864,  and  later  the  degree  of  D.D.  from  Victoria  University ;  Fellow  of  the 
Royal  School  of  Canada.  Editor  Sunday  School  Lesson  Literature,  Methodist  denomi- 
nation, Canada.  As  a  minister  and  editor  he  wields  widespread  influence. 


HENRY  WOLDMAR  RUOFF,  M.A.,  PH.D., 

Literary  Editor  with  The  King-Richardson  Company,  Publishers. 
Graduate  of  the  University  of  Indiana ;  pursued  graduate  studies  in  Harvard 
University;  was  assistant  Ethnologist  to  Columbian  Exposition;  onetime  lecturer  in 
ethics,  psychology,  and  the  philosophy  of  history  in  Pennsylvania  State  College.    He  is 
a  versatile  scholar  and  possesses  fine  literary  instincts. 


REV.  WILLARD  E.  WATERBURY,   B.A.,  B.D., 

Of  the  Baptist  Missionary  Union,  Springfield,  Massachusetts. 
Graduate  of  Syracuse  University ;  entered  Y.  M.  C.  A.  work  at  Concord,  N.  H.  ; 
studied  theology  and  entered  the  Baptist  ministry ;   has  written  for  religious  journals 
and  contributed  to  books  and  periodicals.    He  is  a  preacher  of  much  directness  and 
force,  and  a  successful  leader  of  young  people. 


FRANK  N.  SEERLEY,  B.A.,  Pn.B.,  M.D., 
International  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Training  School,  Springfield,  Mass. 

Graduate  of  the  University  of  Iowa,  ivith  degrees  B.A.  and  Ph.B. ;  studied  medi- 
cine in,  and  received  the  degree  M.D.  from,  the  University  of  Vermont.  He  is  identi- 
fied in  a  very  broad  sense  with  Y.  M.  C.  A.  work,  and  is  an  authoritative  specialist  in 

physical  culture. 

•-•< 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  M.A.,  F.R.  S.  C.,  F.R.S.L., 

Literary  Editor  with  Harper  Brothers,  Publishers. 

Graduate  of  the  University  of  New  Brunswick;  M.A.,  1881 ;  Fellow  of  the  Royal 
Society  of  Canada;  onetime  Professor  of  English  Literature  and  Economics,  King's 
College  University,  N.  S.;  author  of  "  History  of  Canada,"  "  Orion,  and  other  Poems," 
"  Raid  of  Beausejour,"  "  Earth's  Enigmas"  etc.  He  is  a  celebrated  critic  and  author. 


PRBKACB. 


(^  I  HE  reader  will  notice  that  the  treatment  of  this  work 
4  I  has  been  confined  almost  exclusively  to  what  may 
-*—  be  termed  the  didactic  method.  That  is,  the  rigidly 
scientific  as  well  as  the  grossly  sentimental  methods  have 
been,  in  the  main,  avoided  in  the  interest  of  a  treatise  that  is 
designed  to  be  instructive  and  helpful.  Home  has  not  only 
been  regarded  as  an  institution  of  nature,  but  in  the  treat- 
ment of  almost  every  subject  has  been  involved  the  exposi- 
tion of  some  related  natural  law,  because  every  relation  of 
the  home  life  is  the  outgrowth  of  some  law  of  our  nature  or 
of  our  surroundings.  It  has  been  the  constant  aim  to  make 
this  book  a  popular  scientific  treatise  on  the  various  phases 
of  the  home,  and  in  this  respect,  so  far  as  we  know,  it 
stands  alone. 

We  have  chosen  to  consider  the  various  relations  of  the 
home  life  from  this  standpoint,  from  a  conviction  that 
society  has  come  to  need  something  more  substantial  than 
those  mere  expressions  of  sentiment,  which,  for  the  most 
part,  constitute  the  books  of  this  kind  that  heretofore  have 
been  given  to  the  public.  Many  very  entertaining  books, 
however,  have  been  produced  thus,  but  the  undisputed  fact 


Preface. 

that  all  the  while  the  old-time  home  love  has  been  slowly 
but  surely  fading  away,  is  sufficient  proof  that  they  have 
not  accomplished  the  object  for  which  they  were  written. 
It  is  true  that  the  word  "  home  "  is  one  of  the  most  poetic 
in  human  language,  that  the  institution  of  home  itself  owes 
its  origin  to  an  innate  sentiment,  and  that  this  emotion 
like  all  others  grows  and  develops  by  its  own  action. 
Such  expressions  of  sentiment,  therefore,  have  their  use. 
The  great  number  of  those  beautiful  prose  poems,  that  dur- 
ing the  past  few  years  have  been  offered  to  the  public, 
show  how  deep  and  insatiable  is  this  home  sentiment.  Yet 
in  spite  of  all  this,  the  street  and  the  public  hall  are  usurp- 
ing the  kingdom  of  the  fireside,  and  the  feebleness  of  its 
higher  ministrations  fills  us  with  deep  solicitude  if  not  posi- 
tive alarm.  The  restoration  and  preservation  of  the  old 
home  love  and  reverence  by  a  more  rational  and  philosoph- 
ical conception  of  the  home  relations,  we  believe,  is  neces- 
sary to  the  maintenance  of  our  social  integrity. 

The  home  life  is  to  the  social  life  what  the  unvarying 
movement  of  the  water  wheel  is  to  the  complex  and  dis- 
cordant motion  of  the  great  factory.  When  the  machinery 
stops  or  moves  fitfully  and  unreliably  the  experienced 
machinist  does  not  think,  by  merely  lubricating  the  bear- 
ings, to  remove  the  difficulty,  but  with  lantern  and  wrench 
and  hammer  descends  into  the  pit  to  see  what  is  wrong 
with  the  "  great  wheel." 

There  are  certain  diseases  whose  symptoms  are  chiefly 

xiii 


Preface. 

or  wholly  local,  but  which,  nevertheless,  must  be  cured  by 
constitutional  remedies.  Such  is  the  character  of  most  of 
those  moral  diseases  that  affect  human  society,  and  the 
remedies  we  have  tried  to  point  out  are  constitutional  rem- 
edies. The  one  organ  we  have  aimed  to  reach  is  that 
which  is  the  most  central  and  vital  of  any  of  the  living 
body  of  society  —  the  home. 

Society  is  agitated  to-day  over  the  startling  problem  of 
divorce,  and  yet,  with  all  its  attendant  evils,  divorce  must 
be  regarded  only  as  a  symptom  of  a  fatal  disease  that  is 
preying  on  the  vitals  of  society.  Intemperance  and  licen- 
tiousness are  symptoms  of  diseases  that  can  be  reached 
only  through  the  organ  of  home. 

What  the  home  is,  society  will  be.  The  moral  corrup- 
tion and  the  dark  vices  of  the  city  would  perish  in  a  single 
night  did  not  their  destroying  rootlets  reach  down  into  the 
foulness  of  perverted  homes. 

Still,  what  a  world  would  this  be  were  it  not  for  the 
institution  of  home  !  How  would  the  streets  of  the  great 
city  be  turbulent  with  lawless  outcries  at  midnight  did  not 
the  Great  Father,  through  the  kindly  shepherd  of  a  natural 
law,  send  his  children  at  night  to  the  fold  of  home  !  How 
its  gracious  protection  enmantles  the  slow-breathing 
multitude  like  the  folding  of  a  great  wing ! 

This  treatise  is,  in  the  main,  the  product  of  Mr. 
Charles  E.  Sargent,  who,  by  virtue  of  his  keen  observation, 
rare  mental  equipment,  and  the  earnestness  of  his  convic- 

xiv 


Preface. 

tions,  has  given  it  unusual  force  and  a  picturesque  style. 
The  chapter  on  Books  for  the  Home  was  prepared  by 
W.  H.  Withrow,  D.D.  ;  the  chapters,  Origin  of  the  Family, 
The  Home  and  the  State,  and  The  Home  in  Literature, 
by  Mr.  Henry  Woldmar  Ruoff  ;  the  chapter  on  Personal 
Responsibility,  by  Mr.  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts  ;  the  chapters 
on  Home  Religion,  Bereavement  in  the  Home,  and  Music  in 
the  Home,  by  Rev.  Willard  E.  Waterbury,  B.D.  ;  the  chap- 
ter on  Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation,  by  Frank  N.  Seerley, 
M.D.  ;  while  the  chapters,  Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home  and 
Home  Correspondence  and  Forms,  were  collaborated  by 
Mr.  Henry  Woldmar  Ruoff  and  Mr.  Charles  E.  Sargent. 
The  wide  range  of  topics  discussed,  as  well  as  the 
unity  of  purpose  exhibited,  is  not  the  least  desirable  fea- 
ture of  the  work ;  while  the  evident  moral  intent  must 
surely  result  in  lasting  benediction  to  the  home  and  society 
at  large. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Preface,         .....  .      xi 

CHAPTER    1. 

Origin   of  the   Family,      .....      23 

CHAPTER   2. 

Tine   Nature   of    Home,     .        .        .        .        .      32 

CHAPTER    3. 

Influences   of    Home,        .  .      45 

CHAPTER   4. 

Buds  of    Promise,     .  .  53 

CHAPTER   5. 

Childhood,  .        .        .        ;.  .61 

CHAPTER   6. 

Home   Training,  .        .  •      71 

CHAPTER    7. 

Rewards   and   Punishments,   .  .      96 

CHAPTER   8. 

Amusements  for  the   Home,   .  .    104 

CHAPTER  9. 

Home   Smiles,        .  .114 

xvi 


Contents. 

PAGE 
CHAPTER   10. 

Joys   of    Home, 120 

CHAPTER    11. 

Education   of    Our  Girls,        .        .        .        .129 

CHAPTER   12. 
Ed.tJ.ca.tion   of    Our   Boys,        ....     144 

CHAPTER    13. 

Books   for  the   Home, 152 

CHAPTER    14. 

Music    in   the   Home, 167 

CHAPTER   15. 

Evenings   at   Home, 172 

CHAPTER   16. 

Self    Culture, 185 

CHAPTER    17. 

Sundays   at   Home,    ...        .        .        .        .     200 

CHAPTER    18. 

Individual    Rules   of    Conduct,          .        .     210 

CHAPTER    19. 

Correspondence  and  Social  Forms,    .     216 

CHAPTER    20. 

Manners   at   Home, 246 

CHAPTER  21. 

Family   Secrets, 264 

xvii 


Contents. 

CHAPTER   22. 

Kthical   Duties  of    the   Home,  .        .        .273 

CHAPTER  23. 

Contentment  at  Home,          ....    287 

CHAPTER   24. 

Visiting, 294 

CHAPTER    25. 

Unselfishness   at  Home,      ....     303 

CHAPTER  26. 

Patience, 309 

CHAPTER  27. 
Religion   in   the   Home,  ....     319 

CHAPTER  28. 

Temperance,          i  .        .        .        .        .        .        .    328 

CHAPTER   29. 
Economy   of    the   Home,         ....     340 

CHAPTER   30. 

Home   Hygiene   and   Sanitation,    .        .     353 

CHAPTER  31. 

Home  Adornments,          .        .        .        .        •    362 

CHAPTER   32. 
Dignity   at   Home,         .         .        .        .        .        .368 

CHAPTER  33. 

Success    or    Kailmre     Koreshadov^ed 

at   Home, 374 

xviii 


Contents. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER   34. 

Fallacies  about  Genius,       .        .  '      .        .     384 

CHAPTER  35. 

Courage  to   Meet  Life's   Duties,      ..        .     395 

CHAPTER   36. 

Personal    Responsibility,      .         .     '    .        .     403 

CHAPTER    37. 

Trie   Important    Step,       .        .        .        .        .411 

CHAPTER   38. 

Leaving   Home, 427 

CHAPTER  39. 

Memories  of    Home,         .        .        .        .        ,    436 

CHAPTER   40. 

Trials  of    Home,  .        .        .        ...    442 

CHAPTER   41. 

Sorro-w  and.   Its   Meaning,  ....    450 

CHAPTER   42. 

Bereavement  in   the   Home,      .        .        .    465 

.  CHAPTER   43. 

The   Wido\v's   Home,       .        .        .        .        .     475 

CHAPTER   44. 

Homeless   Orphans, 480 

CHAPTER   45. 

Homes   of   the   F*oor, 488 

xix 


Contents. 

PAGE 
CHAPTER   46. 

Homes   of    the   Rich,          ...  .     495 

CHAPTER   47. 

The   Home  and   the   State,  .        .         .        .505 

CHAPTER  48. 
The   Home   in   Literature,     .        .        .        .516 

CHAPTER   49. 

The   Old=Rashioned  Home,         .        .        .580 

CHAPTER   60. 

Ou.r   Last   Farewell   of    Home,  .        .        .    594 

CHAPTER    51. 

Heaven   Ou.r   Home, 605 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PRINTED  FROM  STEEL  PLATES. 


The  Vision  of   Life,       .....        .         Frontispiece. 

This  picture,  symbolical  of  the  successive  stages  of  life,  was 
specially  prepared  for  Our  Home  by  the  well-known  artist, 
C.  Etherington,  formerly  of  Paris,  where  he  was  a  frequent 
and  appreciated  exhibitor. 


The   Old    Hearthstone.     .  ..'.»..         44 

The  work  of  the  sterling  artist  and  engraver,  the  late  John 
Sartain  of  Philadelphia.  It  is  a  faithful  picture  from  the 
home  of  John  Howard  Payne. 


These   are   My  Je\vels, .'       .         70 

Reproduced  from  a  painting  by  the  celebrated   European 
artist,  Schopin,  originally  engraved  by  F.  T.  Stuart. 


Improving  Spare    Nloments 184 

A  highly  artistic  study  prepared  specially  for  this  work  by 
C.  Etherington 


Breaking   Home  Ties,     ..'.....       426 

Reproduction  of  the  widely  celebrated  painting,  of  that  name, 
by  the  late  lamented  Thomas  Hovenden,  who  sacrificed  his 
life  in  an  attempt  to  rescue  a  child  from  a  passing  train. 


The   Hour  of    Anxiety, 451 

Reproduction  of  Luke  Tildes'  masterpiece.  This  painting 
has  been  the  subject  of  admiring  comment  in  two  hemi- 
spheres, depicting,  as  it  does,  a  scene  of  the  deepest  pathos. 

The  Old- Fashioned   Home,        .'      .        .        .        .581 

A  faithful  portraiture  of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne  "  by  C.  Ether- 
ington, a  strong  picture  of  ancestral  days. 


Borne  from  the   Earthly   Home,   ....       604 

The  original  painted  by  Carl  Gotherz  of  Paris.  A  piece  of 
beautiful  symbolism  representing  the  pilgrimage  from  earth 
to  heaven,  with  the  attendant  sorrow  of  dissolution. 


AN'S  life's  a  book  of  history; 

The  leaves  thereof  are  days; 
The  letters,  mercies  closely  joined; 

The  title  is  God's  praise. 

— MASON. 


CHAPTER  ONE. 


Tlie  Origin  of  ttie  Kamily. 


fF  history  and  tradition  are  to  be  trusted,  the  family, 
in  some  form  of  association,  existed  from  the  dawn 
of  the  human  race.  It  was  established  with  the 
sanction  if  not  by  a  special  creative  act  of  the  Divine 
power  and  finds  the  highest  fulfillment  of  its  ends  in  obe- 
dience to  the  natural  laws  of  order  and  grace  instituted  by 
its  Founder. 

We  cannot  go  behind  the  Divine  creative  act  and  in- 
quire what  the  ultimate  motive  or  what  the  prototype  of 
the  family  may  be.  It  is  sufficient  to  know  that  it  is  the 
highest  form  of  functional  life,  and  that  through  it  is  being 
wrought  out  the  divine  purpose  of  creation  and  the  Creator. 

There  are  great  gaps  in  history,  or,  more  properly 
speaking,  in  traditional  history,  that  we  may  well  wish  were 
bridged.  A  great  many  conclusions  would  then  possibly 
be  changed  or  even  discarded.  But  assuredly  more  cer- 
tainty, more  validity,  would  be  introduced  into  our  specu- 
lations regarding  both  the  origin  and  the  early  condition  of 
mankind.  It  has  been  sagely  observed  that  "Barbarism 
writes  no  history  "  ;  and  this  may  account,  in  a  measure, 

23 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

for  the  great  stretches  of  waste  at  the  beginning,   and 
along  the  varied  courses  of  racial  development. 

This  lack  of  consecutiveness  in  the  record  of  the 
human  race  has  left  an  open  door  for  a  series  of  momentous 
guesses  touching  the  early  stages  of  religion,  morals,  social 
conditions,  government,  family  relations,  mode  of  warfare, 
intellectual  development,  and  what  not  ?  Some  problems 
are  raised  of  vital  concern  ;  others  appear  as  the  result  of 
the  "mind's  own  throwing." 

I  WO  theories  are  widely  held  respecting  the  origin  of 

^  the  family,  neither  of  which  conflicts  with  the  fun- 
damental assumption  of  its  Divine  paternity.  The  one  is 
known  as  the  biblical  theory  of  a  special,  creative  act. 

"  And  the  Lord  God  formed  man  of  the  dust  of  the 
ground,  and  breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath  of  life  ; 
and  man  became  a  living  soul. 

******  And  the  Lord  God  caused  a  deep  sleep  to 
fall  upon  Adam,  and  he  slept  :  and  he  took  one  of  his  ribs, 
and  closed  up  the  flesh  instead  thereof  ;  and  the  rib,  which 
the  Lord  God  had  taken  from  man,  made  he  a  woman,  and 
brought  her  unto  the  man. 

******  And  Adam  called  his  wife's  name  Eve  ; 
because  she  was  the  mother  of  all  living." 

The  other,  which  is  generally  known  as  the  scientific 
or  evolutional  theory,  sets  forth  that  man,  and  consequently 

the  family,  was  the  result  of  long  periods  of  development 

24 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

and  differentiation  from  some  lower  order  of  being.  While 
this  is  evidently  in  conflict  with  the  special  creation  theory, 
it  does  not  remove  man  from  an  intelligent  and  Divine 
order  of  creation.  Whether  God  operates  in  his  world 
through  avast  and  complex  system  of  laws  or  by  special 
acts  of  creation,  or  by  both,  as  may  meet  his  inscrutable 
purpose,  is,  after  all,  only  a  question  of  mode  and  of  small 
significance  in  comparison  with  the  greater  fact  that  he 
was  the  ultimate  Creator,  whether  of  man  or  molecule. 

H'ARLY  family  life  differs  as  widely,  outside  of  its 
*^«*  natural  constitution,  as  races  themselves.  It  is 
marked  by  the  peculiarities  of  custom,  temperament,  en- 
vironment, climatic  conditions,  degree  of  development, 
religion,  and  morality  incident  to  different  races.  We  are 
wont,  as  a  rule,  to  confine  our  observations  upon  the  early 
institution  of  the  family  to  the  Jewish  race,  forgetting 
that  there  are  other  races  which  also  had  an  infancy 
within  the  records  of  authentic  history.  So  a  complete 
study  of  it  embraces  the  survey  of  a  vast  array  of  social 
facts,  both  historical  and  anthropological.  The  generaliz- 
ations and  main  conclusions,  only,  can  be  produced  here. 

Travelers  and  anthopologists  are  alike  in  stating  that 
the  prevailing  form  of  social  life  in  the  early  stages  of 
races  is  that  of  promiscuity,  although  no  less  an  authority 
than  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  asserts  it  as  his  belief  that  monog- 
yny, or  the  marriage  of  one  man  to  one  woman,  existed 

25 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

side  by  side  with  it,  from  the  earliest  periods  of  racial  his- 
tory. The  early  histories  of  Greece,  Rome,  and  the  Indo- 
European  peoples  throw  the  weight  of  their  evidence  to  the 
theory  of  promiscuity.  No  intimation  of  separate  and  dis- 
tinct places  or  modes  of  cohabitation  appears  in  their  early 
legends  or  traditions.  In  fact,  so  marked  was  this  promis- 
cuity that  at  a  little  later  stage  the  mother  became  the  nat- 
ural head  of  the  family  or  gens,  its  protector  and  its  pro- 
vider, and  performed  functions  very  similar  to  that  of  a 
patriarch  or  chief  of  a  tribe.  There  was  little  or  no  affec- 
tional  life  such  as  characterizes  the  modern  family,  and 
consequently  no  distinctiveness  of  selection  other  than 
caprice. 

Arising  out  of  the  fact  that  the  mother  was  the  only 
one  who  could  identify  her  offspring,  and  thereby  entitle 
herself  to  become  the  center  of  a  social  unit,  a  new  rela- 
tion was  formed  which  has  been  termed  polyandry,  or  the 
marriage  of  one  woman  and  many  men.  Under  this  rela- 
tion woman  rose  to  a  position  of  greater  influence  than 
man,  and  it  is  recorded  in  the  legendary  history  of  Greece 
that  beside  the  right  of  franchise,  she  possessed  many 
other  functions  in  rudimentary  government. 

Under  the  reign  of  Cecrops,  the  serpent  king,  it  is 
averred  that  a  dispute  arose  between  Pallas  and  Poseidon, 
which  was  settled  by  a  vote  of  the  Athenians  (including 
the  votes  of  the  women)  in  favor  of  Pallas.  In  order  to 
placate  Poseidon,  therefore,  the  men  of  Athens  resolved  to 

26 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

disfranchise  the  women  and  that  children  should  hence- 
forth cease  to  take  their  names  from  the  family  of  their 
mothers. 

This  is  probably  a  somewhat  unscientific  explanation  of 
the  transition  from  polyandry  to  patriarchy,  or  the  gens, 
but  it  at  least  indicates  that  there  was  a  change  in  the  au- 
thority of  the  sexes  and  a  transfer  of  their  social  functions. 

LJ  ATRIARCHY  as  an  early  form  of  family  life  was  a 
^_^  polygamous  association  of  which  the  oldest  repre- 
sentative of  the  blood  relation  was  the  head.  Under  it, 
however,  especially  with  the  Hebrews,  female  chastity  was 
preserved  and  it  attained  to  a  very  creditable  degree  of 
development. 

Corresponding  to  the  patriarchy  of  the  Jews,  the  simi- 
lar associations  of  other  races  and  nations  are  known  by  va- 
rious names.  Among  the  lower  order  of  races  and  includ- 
ing the  Celts,  they  are  designated  clans  ;  among  the  Romans 
gens ;  among  the  Greeks,  ytvvg,  genus ;  among  the  North 
American  Indians,  a  totem  ;  and  so  on.  The  remarkable 
coincidence  is  that  home  is  an  Anglo-Saxon  word,  and 
throughout  its  whole  history  has  been  synonymous,  as  far 
as  it  refers  to  the  natural  constitution  of  the  family,  with 
monogyny, — the  marriage  of  but  one  man  to  one  woman. 
Mr.  Spencer,  after  affirming  his  belief  in  the  theory  that 
monogyny  is  one  of  the  oldest  forms  of  the  family,  a  little 
inconsistently,  as  we  think,  endeavors  to  account  for  its 

27 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

general  prevalence  later,  through  the  operation  of  exog- 
amy, or  wife  stealing.  It  is  well  established  that  in  the  clan 
or  patriarchal  forms  of  the  family  strict  rules  obtained 
against  alliances  outside  of  that  particular  clan  or  patri- 
archy. It  therefore  follows  that  marriages  within  the  clan 
or  patriarchy  were  often  between  those  of  the  closest  blood 
relation.  The  only  way  to  effect  a  marriage,  then,  between 
members  of  different  gentes  was  through  the  stealing  of  a 
female  member  of  one  family  by  the  male  member  of  an- 
other. In  a  case  of  this  kind  the  motive  for  the  act  lay  not 
in  an  infraction  of  the  customs  of  each  particular  gens,  but 
in  some  charm  of  person  that  made  the  alliance  stronger 
and  more  enduring.  Indeed,  in  the  earlier  history  of 
Greece,  wife  stealing  became  a  commonplace  practice,  and 
it  is  not  improbable  that  this  particularizing  of  persons, 
whether  through  a  crude  form  of  love,  or  for  some  ulterior 
reason  we  know  not  of,  was  a  powerful  factor  in  the  gen- 
eral institution  of  monogyny. 

l-^ECURRING  for  a  moment  to  the  hypotheses  with 
V_  which  we  started,  one  thing  is  very  evident :  that 
if  monogyny  were  the  earliest  form  of  the  human  family, 
there  have  been  lapses  and  variations  from  it  during  the 
many  centuries  of  its  career  for  which  we  can  scarcely  ac- 
count. It  may  be  that  such  is  the  law  of  progression  ;  that 
humanity  must  often  descend  into  the  trough  of  the  sea  to 
ascend  and  re-ascend  to  the  crest  of  the  wave. 

28 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

However  that  may  be,  after  a  long  process  of  years, 
and  struggle  with  the  barbarities  of  races,  we  are  brought 
into  the  possession  of  that  chiefest  blessing  of  modern  civ- 
ilization —  the  home  —  which  has  been  made  possible  only 
through  the  firm  intrenchment  of  the  monogamous  mar- 
riage. 

It  must  not  be  understood,  however,  that  the  produc- 
tion of  the  modern  home  was  due  to  one  set  of  influences 
or  circumstances  only.  The  naturalist  and  the  anthropolo- 
gist tell  us  the  story  from  the  standpoint  of  physical  and 
racial  life  ;  while  the  social  and  religious  philosopher  pre- 
sents the  case  of  potential  or  inherent  development.  In 
this  respect  it  is  proper  to  observe  the  validity  and  force  of 
both.  From  the  low  brutality  of  promiscuous  relationship, 
with  its  ignorance,  its  stolidity,  its  lack  of  organization,  its 
absence  of  affectional  life,  to  the  modern  Christian  home, 
with  its  ideals  of  sacredness,  law  and  order,  comfort,  in- 
telligence, morals,  and  religious  vitalism,  is  indeed  a  long 
stretch,  and  nothing  short  of  the  guiding  influences  of  an 
Almighty  hand  could  have  brought  it  about. 

Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  observes,  in  substance,  that  the 
home  is  the  most  important  factor  in  civilization,  and  that 
civilization  is  to  be  measured  at  different  stages  largely  by 
the  development  of  the  home.  This  seems  to  be  amply 
borne  out  by  the  results  of  study  in  every  branch  of  so- 
ciety,—  whether  government,  morals,  religious  or  social 
institutions.  The  natural  family  gave  rise  to  the  household 

29 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

or  familia.  The  village  became  an  offshoot  from  these, 
and  related  villages  recognized  a  common  ruler,  or  king. 
Questions  of  property  rights,  slaves,  laws  of  inheritance, 
modes  of  worship,  distribution  of  labor,  and  so  on,  arose. 
So  that  the  history  of  the  family  in  its  relation  to  society 
in  general  is  practically  a  history  of  civilization  itself. 

I  HE  emancipation  of  the  family  from  the  bonds  of 
V  savagery  is  marked  in  many  ways.  The  mortality 
of  offspring  has  been  lessened,  woman  has  ceased  to  be  held 
in  serfdom,  physical  comforts  have  been  increased,  mother- 
hood has  been  raised  to  the  dignity  of  a  sacrament  almost, 
different  spheres  of  activities  have  been  developed  for  the 
sexes,  individuality  has  forced  itself  into  recognition,  and 
possibly  above  all  else  is  to  be  noted  the  development  of 
the  affectional  nature.  This  latter  became  a  new  force  in 
society,  and  the  inspirational  theme  of  nearly  all  early 
literature,  as  well  as  the  guiding  motive  of  art,  music, 
and  legend. 

There  was  scarcely  a  common  interest  that  did  not 
extend  to  the  family  sooner  or  later.  Religion  became  its 
foster  mother,  devised  forms  of  worship,  sacrament,  and 
grace  in  its  special  behoof,  and  prescribed  its  relation  to 
society  as  well.  It  became  the  subject  of  special  laws 
under  the  state,  and  formed  an  organic  part  in  the  classifi- 
cations of  early  citizenship.  And  so  we  might  go  on 
recounting  the  multiplicity  of  newborn  functions,  which 

30 


The  Origin  of  the  Family. 

came  to  the  family  organization  as  the  result  of  its  mani- 
fold struggles  toward  the  rightful  position  it  holds  in  mod- 
ern civilization  to-day  as  the  home.  Born  out  of  the  throes 
of  human  development  and  racial  turmoil,  it  stands  forth 
as  the  highest  form  of  associated  life,  and  as  .the  natural 
unit  of  all  future  civic  development. 


31 


CHAPTER  TWO. 

Ttie  Nature  of  Home. 


UR  home  is  the  one  spot  on  earth  where  is  con- 
centrated the  largest   percentage  of  our  earthly 
interest.     There  are  few  human  beings  without 
a  home  or  the  memory  of  one. 

The  vast  multitude  that  surges  through  the  streets  of 
the  great  city  is  made  up  of  individual  souls,  each  of 
which  to-night  will  seek  some  place  it  calls  home. 

There  are  those  who  roll  through  the  streets  with 
golden  livery  to  palaces  where  brilliant  lights,  gorgeous 
tapestry,  and  soft-piled  carpets  await  their  coming.  There 
are  those  who  walk  the  frosty  pavement  with  cold  and 
bleeding  feet,  whose  homes  are  in  damp  and  dreary  cel- 
lars, or  in  the  rickety  garrets  of  worn  and  wretched  hovels. 
No  lights,  no  music,  no  feasts,  await  them,  nothing  but  a 
crust  and  a  bed  of  straw.  And  yet  these  places  in  all 
their  wretchedness  are  the  homes  of  human  beings. 

There  is  still  another  class  of  homes,  where  has  been 
answered  the  human  heart's  best  prayer,  "give  us  neither 
poverty  nor  riches  "  ;  where  peace  and  joy  and  love  and 
contentment  dwell ;  where  industry  and  frugality,  with 

32 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

sunbrowned  hands  and  healthful  appetite,  sit  at  the  board 
of  plenty.  But  whether  the  home  be  a  palace,  a  cottage, 
or  a  garret,  it  is  home. 

^U  OME  is  in  the  soul  itself ;  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  is 
V,^  independent  of  outward  circumstances.  Of  this 
inward  home  the  outward  is  but  the  expression  ;  and  yet 
it  is  doubtful  if  the  outward  is  ever  a  true  expression  of 
the  inward,  inasmuch  as  men's  ideals  always  transcend 
their  experience.  Neither  the  wretched  hovel  where  vice 
and  hunger  dwell,  nor  the  palace  where  lies  the  gilded 
corpse  of  love,  can  be  a  true  home. 

' '  Home  is  the  resort 

Of  love,  of  joy,  of  peace  and  plenty,  where, 
Supporting  and  supported,  polished  friends 
And  dear  relations  mingle  into  bliss. " 

Next  to  religion,  the  home  sentiment  is  the  strongest  in 
the  human  heart.  At  the  name  of  home  the  better  impulse 
of  every  heart  awakens.  As  the  chord  of  the  instrument 
is  dead  to  every  sound  until  its  own  harmonic  chord  is 
struck,  when  it  vibrates  and  taking  up  the  sound  prolongs 
it  as  if  it  could  not  let  it  die,  so  many  a  darkened  mind  is 
dead  to  every  appeal  save  that  magic  sound,  "  home  !  "  The 
lives  of  thousands  who  have  been  snatched  as  brands  from 
temptation's  fire  will  testify  to  the  magic  power  of  a  sister's 
early  love,  while  the  sudden  remembrance  of  a  mother's 

33 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

"  good  night  kiss  "  has  stayed  the  assassin's  dagger.  In 
the  dark  and  loathsome  dens  of  iniquity  there  are  those 
whose  lips  have,  for  years,  acknowledged  their  Creator  only 
in  oaths ;  whose  eyes  have  shed  no  tears,  and  whose  ears 
have  heard  only  the  blasphemies  of  drunken  revelry. 
And  yet  could  an  unseen  hand  write  upon  those  walls  the 
words  "Home"  and  "Mother's  Love,"  lips  would  quiver, 
eyes  would  swim,  and  from  the  depths  of  many  a  soul  in 
which  the  germs  of  truth  and  love  had  long  since  seemed 
dead,  would  burst  the  heart-rending  confession,— 

"  Once  I  was  pure  as  the  snow,  but  I  fell, 
Fell  like  a  snow-flake  from  heaven  to  hell, 
Fell  to  be  trampled  as  filth  of  the  street, 
Fell  to  be  scoffed  at,  be  spit  on  and  beat ; 
Pleading,  cursing,  begging  to  die, 
Selling  my  soul  to  whoever  would  buy ; 
Dealing  in  shame  for  a  morsel  of  bread, 
Hating  the  living  and  fearing  the  dead." 

I  HE  powerful  influence  which  the  home  sentiment  ex- 
^  erts  over  the  minds  of  men  was  shown  in  a  striking 
and  unique  manner  at  Castle  Garden,  New  York.  Some 
ten  thousand  people  had  gathered  there  to  listen  to  that 
sweet- voiced  singer,  Jenny  Lind.  She  began  with  the  sub- 
lime compositions  of  the  great  masters  of  song.  Her 
audience  applauded  her  with  a  respectful  degree  of  appre- 
ciation. But  at  length,  with  sweetness  ineffable,  born  of 

34 


TJie  Nature  of  Home. 

the  holy  parentage  of  genius  and  passion,  she  poured  forth 
that  immortal  song,  "Home,  Sweet  Home."  At  once  the 
irrepressible  contagion  of  sympathy  spread  through  that 
vast  audience.  Peal  on  peal  of  thunderous  applause 
resounded,  until  the  song  was  stopped  by  the  very  ecstasy 
of  those  who  listened ;  and  when  the  soft  refrain  was 
heard  again,  that  mass  of  humanity  was  melted  into  tears  ; 
the  great  masters  were  all  forgotten,  while  ten  thousand 
human  hearts  knelt  at  the  shrine  of  a  poor  and  obscure  out- 
cast. Why  was  this  ?  Was  Howard  Payne  a  greater 
genius  than  they  ?  Must  these  mighty  names  yield  their 
places  to  one  whom  the  world  has  forgotten  ?  No  ;  it  was 
simply  because  when  sorrow  laid  his  iron  hand  on  the  heart 
of  Howard  Payne,  in  his  cruel  grasp  he  chanced  to  strike 
that  chord  which  vibrates  to  a  lighter  touch  than  any  in  the 
human  heart  save  that  alone  swept  by  the  master's  hand. 

4 '  Home  of  our  childhood  !  how  affection  clings 
And  hovers  'round  thee  with  her  seraph  wings  ! 
Dearer  thy  hills,  though  clad  in  autumn  brown, 
Than  fairest  summits  which  the  cedars  crown." 

i 

The  rough  experiences  of  the  roaring,  toiling,  stormy 
world  may  blot  out  all  other  images  from  the  mind,  but  the 
picture  of  our  early  home  must  hang  forever  on  the  walls  of 
memory,  until  "the  silver  cord  be  loosed  or  the  golden 
bowl  be  broken." 


35 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

I  HE  old  man  may  not  recall  all  the  experiences,  all  the 
^  struggles  and  triumphs  of  his  early  manhood ;  bat 
every  feature  of  his  childhood  home,  every  little  playhouse 
that  he  helped  his  sister  build,  is  photographed  upon  his 
heart's  tablet  and  can  never  fade  away.  Perchance  the 
golden  light  of  eternity  will  not  dim  the  brightness  of  that 
picture.  Whatever  else  the  heart  may  forget,  it  cannot 
forget  the  place  of  its  birth  ;  it  cannot  forget  the  little 
broken  cart,  the  sled  and  the  kite,  the  sister's  fond  caress, 
the  brother's  generous  aid,  the  father's  loving  counsel,  and 
the  mother's  anxious  prayer. 

It  cannot  forget  the  day  when  a  chastening  hand  drew 
still  closer  the  cords  of  love  and  bound  the  little  circle  in 
a  common  sorrow  ;  the  day  when  hushed  footsteps  were 
in  the  house,  and  the  silent  rooms  were  filled  with  the  odor 
of  flowers,  and  the  garden  gate  swung  outward  to  let  a 
little  casket  through. 

"  That  hallowed  word  is  ne'er  forgot, 

No  matter  where  we  roam  ; 
The  purest  feelings  of  the  heart 
Still  cluster  'round  our  home. 

"  Dear  resting  place  where  weary  thought 

May  dream  away  its  care, 
Love's  gentle  star  unveils  its  light 
And  shines  in  beauty  there." 


36 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

the  ministry  of  home  consists  not  alone  in  its 
fond  memories  and  hallowed  associations.  It  is  the 
great  conservator  of  good,  the  "seeding  place  of  virtue." 
It  is  the  origin  of  all  civilization.  The  laws  of  a  nation  are 
but  rescripts  of  its  domestic  codes.  The  words  uttered  and 
the  doctrines  taught  around  the  fireside  are  the  influences 
that  shape  the  destinies  of  empires. 

It  is  the  influences  of  home  that  live  in  the  life  of  king- 
doms, while  parental  counsel  repeats  itself  in  the  voices  of 
republics.  We  would  impress  upon  the  minds  of  our 
readers  this  grand  truth,  and  would  that  we  might  thunder 
it  into  the  ears  of  all  mankind,  that  a  nation  is  but  a  mag- 
nified home.  Parliament  and  Congress  are  but  hearth- 
stones on  a  grander  scale.  Those  great  and  noble  charac- 
ters who  have  left  a  deathless  impress  upon  the  history  of 
nations  were  not  fashioned  on  battle  fields,  but  in  the 
cradle  and  at  the  fireside.  They  are  those,  moreover,  who 
at  every  period  of  life,  at  every  turn  of  fortune  or  adver- 
sity, have  never  forgotten  the  old  home. 

NO  argument  is  necessary  to  convince  us  of  the  potency 
of  home  influence  in  shaping  character.  There  are 
certain  truths  to  which  it  is  only  necessary  to  call  atten- 
tion, and  minds  instinctively  assent  to  them,  and  to  this 
class,  we  believe,  belong  those  general  truths  concerning 
home  which  we  have  mentioned.  Indeed,  they  are  recog- 

37 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

nized  and  taught  in  the  trite  maxims  of  everyday  life. 
Napoleon  understood  well  the  nature  of  home  and  its  mis- 
sion when  he  said,  "  The  great  need  of  France  is  mothers." 
Mohammed  said,  "  Paradise  is  at  the  feet  of  mothers." 

"  O  wondrous  power  !  how  little  understood  1 
Entrusted  to  a  mother's  mind  alone, — 
To  fashion  genius  from  the  soul  for  good." 

In  democratic  countries  like  the  United  States  and 
Canada,  where  the  fate  of  the  nation  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
people,  the  future  of  the  nation  is  in  the  hands  of  the  chil- 
dren. They  must  be  fitted  for  their  high  responsibilities  by 
the  influences  of  home.  These  countries  should. fear  the 
disloyalty  and  contention  of  the  fireside  more  than  the 
nefarious  plots  of  scheming  politicians. 

If  boys  wrangle  and  contend  at  home,  if  they  cannot 
discuss  with  dignity  the  little  questions  that  arise  in  their 
daily  intercourse  with  one  another,  be  sure  they  will  not 
honor  the  nation  when  they  take  their  places  in  Senate, 
Parliament,  or  Congress  to  discuss  the  great  problems  that 
confront  the  civilization  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

NOW,  if  home  may  be  so  powerful  an  influence  for 
good,  how  important  becomes  the  cultivation  of  the 
home   sentiment.      To   be    destitute    of   this    sentiment  is 
almost  as  great  a  misfortune  as  to  be  destitute  of  the  relig- 
ious sentiment.     Indeed,  we  believe  that  one  cannot  pos- 

38 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

sess  a  true  and  exalted  love  of  home  while  there  is  wanting 
in  his  character  that  which  when  awakened  may  yield  the 
fruit  of  a  godly  life.  What  a  mighty  responsibility  rests 
upon  him  who  essays  to  make  a  home,  for  the  founding  of 
a  home  is  as  sacred  a  work  as  the  founding  of  a  church. 
Indeed,  every  home  should  be  a  temple  dedicated  to  divine 
worship,  where  human  beings  through  life  should  worship 
God  through  the  service  of  mutual  love  —  the  highest 
tribute  man  can  pay  to  the  divine. 

If  the  home  sentiment  be  one  of  the  strongest  passions 
of  the  human  soul,  it  was  made  such  for  a  wise  purpose. 
The  affections  of  the  heart  all  have  their  corresponding 
outward  objects.  We  possess  no  power  impelling  us  to 
love  or  desire  that  which  does  not  exist  as  a  genuine  insti- 
tution and  necessity  of  nature.  So  this  strong  home  senti- 
ment only  proves  to  us  that  the  institution  of  home  was 
divinely  born.  It  is  based  in  the  very  constitution  of 
human  nature,  and  so  vital  is  the  relation  which  it  sustains 
to  our  needs,  that  every  heart  must  have  a  home.  It  may 
not  be  of  brick  or  wood  or  stone.  It  may  not  have  a  "  local 
habitation  and  a  name."  But  if  not,  out  of  the  airy  tim- 
bers of  its  own  fancy  the  heart  will  rear  the  structure 
which  it  demands  as  a  necessity  of  its  being.  We  are 
aware  that  there  are  thousands  who  are  called  homeless  ; 
but  their  hearts'  demand  is  at  least  partially  met  by  the 
possession  of  an  ideal  home.  The  body  may  exist  without 
a  home,  but  the  heart,  never.  The  world  called  Howard 

39 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

Payne  a  homeless  wanderer,  yet  kings  and  peasants  have 
implored  entrance  at  the  vine-wreathed  threshold  of  that 
home  which  he  reared  in  the  airy  dreamland  of  poesy. 

Another  evidence  of  the  divine  origin  of  the  institution 
of  home  is  found  in  its  obvious  adaptation  to  the  end  it 
serves,  and  in  the  striking  analogies  which  we  detect  be- 
tween its  functions  and  the  general  methods  of  nature. 

[•"•VERY  growth  in  nature  is  nurtured  and  sustained 
*^,*  through  its  early  existence  by  a  pre-existing  guard- 
ian. The  germ  of  the  oak  is  nourished  and  protected  by 
the  substance  of  the  acorn  until  it  is  strong  enough  to 
draw  its  food  directly  from  the  earth,  and  to  withstand 
the  tempest  and  the  scorching  sun.  So  it  must  be  with 
the  germ  of  that  oak  which  is  to  wave  in  the  forest  of 
human  society.  And  if  we  wish  it  to  become  a  grand 
and  noble  oak,  and  not  a  hollow  hearted  deformity,  we 
should  look  well  to  the  protection  and  nourishment  of  its 
early  years.  We  should  see  that  there  is  the  proper  spirit- 
ual soil  from  which  the  little  human  germ  may  gather 
wholesome  and  strengthening  food  when  it  puts  forth  its 
tender  rootlets  into  the  great  world  without. 

The  relation  which  the  acorn  sustains  to  the  germ  is 
precisely  that  which  the  home  sustains  to  the  child.  If  we 
were  to  suppose  the  germ  endowed  with  intelligence,  we 
should  still  suppose  it  ignorant  of  everything  but  the  en- 
vironments of  the  acorn.  It  would,  of  course,  be  all  uncon- 

40 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

scious  that  there  is  a  world  without  full  not  only  of  germs 
like  itself,  but  of  giant  oaks.  So  the  child  is  ignorant  of 
the  great  outward  world.  The  home  is  its  little  world  and 
it  knows  no  other. 

Precious  thought,  that  it  never  quite  outgrows  the  bliss- 
ful ignorance  !  We  take  on  higher  and  broader  views  of 
life,  but  we  are  compelled  by  a  law  of  our  being  to  look 
forever  upon  our  home  as  in  some  way  the  grand  center 
from  which  radiate  all  other  interests. 

When  the  mother  shades  the  windows  of  the  nursery, 
she  but  unconsciously  imitates  the  Creator  of  her  child, 
who  through  the  institution  of  home  has  shut  from  his 
feeble  and  nascent  mind  the  flashing  colors  of  the  too  bril- 
liant world. 

But  not  alone  for  childhood  is  the  sacred  ministry  of 
home.  It  is  the  guardian  of  youth,  a  consolation  amid 
the  weary  toils  of  manhood  and  a  resting  place  for  old  age, 
where  he  who  is  soon  to  lay  off  the  armor  may  find  loving 
hearts  and  tender  hands  to  guide  his  tottering  steps  to  the 
water's  edge. 

Again,  the  mature  mind  is  only  that  of  a  developed  in- 
fant. It  is  still  infantile  with  reference  to  the  universe  in 
its  entirety.  Nor  can  it  ever  fully  comprehend  the  signifi- 
cance of  life  in  the  aggregate.  Were  we  to  attempt  to 
dwell  in  the  great  temple  of  the  world,  we  should  become 
lost  in  its  vast  halls  and  mighty  labyrinths.  Hence  it  be- 
comes necessary  to  reduce  the  scale  of  the  world  ;  to  iso- 

41 


The  Nature  of  Home. 

late  the  human  mind,  as  it  were,  from  the  vastness  of  ag- 
gregate life.  And  this  God  has  done  in  the  institution  of 
home. 

"  Home's  not  merely  four  square  walls, 

Though  with  pictures  hung  and  gilded  : 
Home  is  where  affection  calls, 

Filled  with  shrines  the  heart  hath  builded  ! 
Home  !  go  watch  the  faithful  dove, 

Sailing  'neath  the  heaven  above  us ; 
Home  is  where  there's  one  to  love  ! 

Home  is  where  there's  one  to  love  us  ! 

"  Home's  not  merely  roof  and  room, 

It  needs  something  to  endear  it ; 
Home  is  where  the  heart  can  bloom, 

Where  there's  some  kind  lip  to  cheer  it ! 
What  is  home  with  none  to  meet, 

None  to  welcome,  none  to  greet  us? 
Home  is  sweet, —  and  only  sweet, — 

Where  there's  one  we  love  to  meet  us  I  " 


h 


I 

oil 


CHAPTER  THREE. 

Influences  of  Home. 

T  is  a  law  of  all  initiate  life  that  it  is  susceptible  to 
outward  and  formative  influences  in  an  inverse  ratio 
to  its  age. 

An  ear  of  corn  while  it  is  yet  green  may  have  an 
entire  row  of  its  kernels  removed,  and  when  it  becomes 
ripe  it  will  show  no  marks  of  this  piece  of  vegetable  sur- 
gery. So  the  young  child  may  have  many  a  vice  removed 
while  he  remains  as  plastic  clay  in  the  hands  of  those 
whose  privilege  it  is  to  mold  the  character  for  eternity,  and 
when  he  is  old  he  will  show  no  marks  of  the  cruel  knife  of 
discipline  and  denial  through  which  the  change  was 
wrought.  But  if  he  becomes  old  before  the  work  is  begun 
the  scar  will  always  remain,  even  if  the  experiment  suc- 
ceeds. A  bad  temper  in  a  young  child  may  be  sweetened, 
but  the  acid  temper  of  an  old  man  reluctantly  unites  with 
any  sweetening  influences. 

We  find  here  a  striking  analogy  to  a  physical  law  of 
our  being.  It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  in  early  childhood 
the  osseous  tissues  of  the  body  are  soft  and  flexible.  The 
bones  may  be  almost  doubled  upon  themselves  without 

45 


Influences  of  Home. 

breaking,  but  in  the  old  the  bones  are  so  hard  and  brittle 
that  they  cannot  be  bent  at  all  without  breaking.  We  can 
make  little  or  no  impression  upon  them.  They  stubbornly 
refuse  to  respond  to  any  influences.  Surely  it  is  true  of  the 
bod^y,  "  As  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree's  inclined."  But  it  is  no 
less  true  of  the  mind  and  soul.  The  disposition  of  an  animal 
may  be  made  almost  what  we  choose  to  make  it  by  our 
treatment  of  it  when  young. 

Who  does  not  know  that  the  disposition  of  the  dog  is 
almost  wholly  dependent  on  the  manner  in  which  the 
puppy  is  treated  ?  This  principle  is  recognized  in  the 
adage,  "It  is  hard  to  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks." 

Whatever  may  be  our  views  concerning  the  moral  and 
spiritual  relations  of  the  human  to  the  brute  creation,  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  the  laws  which  govern  the  mental 
life  of  each  are  essentially  the  same.  The  difference  is  in 
quantity  rather  than  quality. 

What  a  grand  virtue  is  patience  !  How  charming  in 
childhood  !  How  sublime  in  manhood  !  Then  let  us  learn 
a  lesson  from  the  ease  with  which  patience  is  created  or 
destroyed  at  will  in  the  young  animal. 

The  susceptibility  of  children  to  outward  influences  is 
largely  due  to  their  power  of  imitation,  and  this  power 
was  doubtless  given  them  for  a  wise  purpose. 

Originality  is  not  a  virtue  of  infancy  and  childhood. 
Hence,  if  we  would  influence  the  acts  of  a  child  we 
should  set  him  an  example,  we  should  act  as  we  wish 

46 


Influences  of  Home. 

him  to  act.  Patient  children  are  never  reared  by  impatient 
parents. 

Most  of  the  crime  and  misery  of  the  world  are  due  to 
the  early  influences  of  home.  We  may  not  be  aware  how 
small  an  influence  may  work  the  ruin  of  a  child  when  he 
has  inherited  slightly  vicious  tendencies.  By  nature  the 
disposition  of  a  child  is  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world, 
and  how  beautiful,  tender,  and  sweet  might  become  the 
lives  of  all  if  parents  were  conscious  of  these  truths,  and 
would  act  according  to  their  knowledge.  But  they  so 
often  contaminate  the  sweet  springs  of  childhood  with  the 
bitterness  of  their  own  lives,  that  we  do  not  wonder  that 
the  old  theologians  so  strongly  believed  in  total  depravity 
and  innate  sinfulness. 

Infancy  is  neither  vicious  nor  virtuous ;  it  is  simply 
innocent,  and  is  susceptible  alike  to  good  and  bad  im- 
pressions. 

Its  safety  consists  alone  in  the  watchfulness  of  its 
guardians.  The  soldier  has  his  hours  of  duty,  but  the  par- 
ent to  whose  hands  is  intrusted  the  guardianship  of  an 
immortal  soul  is  never  off  duty.  When  the  baby  is  asleep 
all  the  household  move  softly  lest  they  awake  him  ;  but 
when  he  is  awake  they  should  move  and  think  and  speak 
more  softly  lest  they  awaken  in  him  that  which  no  nursery 
song  can  lull  to  sleep  again. 

The  young  child  is  an  apt  student  of  human  nature. 
You  do  not  deceive  him  as  you  perhaps  think.  The 

47 


Influences  of  Home. 

knowledge  of  human  nature,  of  the  motives  that  impel  us 
to  actions,  comes  not  from  reason  nor  from  observation. 
It  is  an  intuitive  knowledge  and  is  always  keen  in  the 
child.  It  acts,  too,  with  far  greater  vigor  between  the 
child  and  parent,  especially  the  mother,  than  between 
the  child  and  others.  Every  look  of  the  mother's  eye  is 
interpreted  by  her  child  with  far  greater  accuracy  than  the 
most  profound  student  of  the  anatomy  of  expression  could 
interpret  it. 

The  sharpest  merchant  may  not  detect  the  sign  of  dis- 
honesty in  the  father's  face  so  quickly  as  the  child. 

LxARENTS,  your  child  is  a  bound  volume  of  blank 
^_^.  paper  on  whose  pages  are  to  be  written  the  record 
of  your  own  lives.  Be  careful  then  what  you  allow  to  be 
written  there,  for  the  world  will  read  it.  Do  you  not  see 
that  through  this  principle  by  which  you  are  instinctively 
en  rapport  with  your  child,  an  awful  responsibility  is 
thrown  upon  you  ?  The  secrets  of  your  inmost  soul  are  the 
copy  which  the  trembling  hand  of  your  child  is  trying  to 
write. 

The  word  influence  is  the  most  incomprehensible,  the 
most  vast  and  far  reaching  in  its  significance,  of  all  words. 
We  seldom  use  it  in  any-  but  a  literal  sense,  but  in  every 
degree  of  its  true  meaning  there  is  the  shadow  of  infinity. 
Philosophers  tell  us,  not  in  jest,  but  in  the  profoundest 
earnest,  that  every  footfall  on  the  pavement  jars  the  sun, 

48 


Influences  of  Home, 

and  every  pebble  dropped  into  the  ocean  moves  the  conti- 
nents with  vibrations  that  never  cease.  Your  hand  gives 
motion  to  a  pendulum,  and  in  that  act  you  have  produced 
an  effect  which  shall  endure  through  eternity.  The  vibra- 
tion of  the  pendulum  as  a  mass  ceases,  but  only  because 
its  motion  has  been  transformed  from  mass  motion  to 
molecular  motion.  Had  it  been  suspended  in  a  vacuum 
and  been  made  to  swing  without  friction  at  the  point  of 
suspension,  it  would  have  vibrated  on  forever,  but  the  fric- 
tion, which  is  inevitable,  and  the  resistance  of  the  air,  grad- 
ually bring  it  to  rest,  and  we  say  the  motion  has  ceased. 
But  this  is  not  true.  The  motion  has  not  ceased,  it  has 
simply  become  invisible.  At  every  vibration  a  part  of  the 
motion  was  changed  at  the  point  of  suspension  and  in  the 
air  into  the  invisible  undulations  of  heat  and  electricity. 
A  moment  ago  the  pendulum  was  swinging,  but  now 
infinitely  small  atoms  are  swinging  in  its  stead,  and  the 
aggregate  motion  of  all  those  atoms  is  just  equal  to  the 
motion  of  the  pendulum  at  first.  These  waves  of  atomic 
motion  expand  and  radiate  from  the  points  of  origin,  ex- 
tending on  and  on  and  on,  past  planets  and  stars,  beating 
and  dashing  against  their  brazen  bosoms  as  the  waves  of 
the  ocean  beat  the  rocky  shore. 

This  is  not  the  language  of  fancy  ;  it  is  the  veritable 
philosophy,  the  demonstrated  facts  of  science.  Your  will 
gave  birth  to  motion  communicated  along  the  nerve  of  your 

arm  to  the  pendulum,  and  that  motion  has  gone  past  your 

49 


Influences  of  Home, 

recall,  on  its  eternal  errand  among  the  stars.     What  a  sol- 
emn thought !    You  are  the  parent  of  the  infinite  ! 

And  yet  this  illustration  but  faintly  shadows  the  awful- 
ness  of  human  influence.  If  a  simple  motion  of  your  hand 
is  fraught  with  eternal  consequences,  what  shall  we  say  of 
the  influences  of  your  mind  ?  They  shall  live  as  long  as 
the  throne  of  the  Infinite.  Oh,  that  we  might  impress 
upon  the  minds  of  mother  and  father  the  awful  truth  that 
an  influence  in  its  very  nature  is  eternal.  Not  a  word  or 
thought  or  deed  of  all  the  myriad  dead  but  lives  to-day  in 
the  character  of  our  words  and  deeds  and  thoughts.  We 
are  the  outgrowth  of  all  the  past,  the  grand  resultant  of  all 
the  world's  past  forces.  Only  God  can  measure  the  in- 
fluence of  a  human  thought. 

"  No  stream  from  its  source 
Flows  seaward,  how  lonely  soever  its  course, 
But  what  some  land  is  gladdened.     Xo  star  ever  rose 
And  set  without  influence  somewhere.     Who  knows 
What  earth  needs  from  earth's  lowest  creature?     No  life 
Can  be  pure  in  its  purpose  and  strong  in  its  strife, 
And  all  life  not  be  purer  and  stronger  thereby." 

/V  MOTHER  speaks  a  fretful  word  to  a  child  at  a  crit- 

V^,  ical  moment,   when  just  upon   his  trembling  lips 

hangs  the  ready  word  of  penitence,  and  in  his  eye  a  tear, 

held  back  by  the  thinnest   veil   through   which   a  single 

tender  glance  might  pierce.     But  the  tender  glance  is  with- 

50 


Influences  of  Home. 

held.  The  penitence  grows  cold  upon  his  lip,  the  tear 
creeps  back  to  its  fountain,  the  heart  grows  harder  day  by 
day,  until  that  mother  mourns  over  a  wayward  child,  the 
neighborhood  over  a  rude  boy,  the  city  over  a  reckless 
youth,  the  state  over  a  dangerous  man,  and  the  nation  over 
the  sad  havoc  of  a  dark  assassin.  Who  can  trace  to  its 
ultimate  effect  that  fretful  word  through  all  its  ramifica- 
tions to  infinite  consequences  ?  That  word  shall  reverber- 
ate through  the  halls  of  eternity  when  planets  are  dust 
and  stars  are  ashes. 

I  IF  all  human  influences  those  of  home  are  the  most  far 
reaching  in  their  results.  The  mutual  influence  of 
brothers  and  sisters  may  be  almost  incalculable.  There 
are  many  men  who  owe  their  honor,  their  integrity,  and 
their  manhood  to  the  influence  of  pure  minded  sisters. 
Sisters  usually  have  it  in  their  power  to  shape  the  charac- 
ter of  their  brothers  as  they  choose.  There  is  naturally  a 
pure  and  holy  affection  existing  between  brothers  and 
sisters.  It  is  natural  for  all  brothers  to  feel  and  believe 
that,  in  some  way,  their  sisters  are  purer  and  better  than 
others,  and  sisters  also  believe  that  their  brothers  are 
nobler  than  the  brothers  of  their  associates.  This  senti- 
ment is  so  universal  that  we  cannot  help  believing  it  was 
ordained  for  a  wise  purpose.  Of  course  there  is  the  ele- 
ment of  deception  in  it,  but  it  is  one  of  nature's  wise  de- 
ceptions. She  deceives  us,  or  tries  to  deceive  us,  when  she 

51 


Influences  of  Home. 

paints  what  seems  a  solid  bow  upon  the  canvas  of  the  sky. 
She  deceives  the  superstitious  and  ignorant  when  she  flings 
her  chain  of  molten  gold  around  the  dusky  shoulders  of 
the  night.  But  these  deceptions  are  not  such  as  to  cast  any 
reflections  upon  her  integrity.  So  we  may  believe  that  this 
sweet  deception  which  makes  angels  of  sisters  and  heroes 
of  brothers  was  divinely  ordered  to  unite  brothers  and  sis- 
ters in  closest  communion  and  to  bring  them  both  within 
the  enchanted  circle  of  home  influence. 

"  I  shot  an  arrow  in  the  air, 

It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where. 

#*********•* 
"  I  breathed  a  song  into  the  air, 

It  fell  on  earth,  I  knew  not  where. 
*********** 
"  Long,  long  afterwards  in  an  oak 
I  found  the  arrow  still  unbroke ; 
And  the  song  from  beginning  to  end, 
I  found  again  in  the  heart  of  a  friend." 

Morals,  manners,  methods, — the  principal  concomitants 
of  character, —  have  their  inception  and  largely  their  devel- 
opment within  the  home.  It  is  at  once  one  of  the  most 
civilizing  and  demoralizing  of  human  agencies.  It  may  be 
a  lazar-house  of  vice,  strife,  improvidence,  unfaith,  prosti- 
tuting every  budding  power,  or  it  may  be  the  sanctuary  of 
domestic  felicity,  kindness,  truthfulness,  philanthropy, 
bestowing  continued  benedictions  upon  each  member  and 
radiating  the  light  of  human  joy. 

52 


CHAPTER  FOUR. 

Buds  of  Promise. 


^  (5}  OME  as  a  natural  institution  has  for  its  primary 
object  the  nurturing  of  those  tender  buds  of 
promise  which  can  mature  in  no  other  soil. 
The  human  bud,  unlike  that  of  the  flower, 
does  not  contain  its  future  wholly  wrapped  up  within  itself, 
but  depends  much  upon  the  hand  that  nurtures  it.  The 
rosebud,  no  matter  in  what  soil  it  grows,  no  matter  what 
care  it  receives,  must  blossom  into  a  rose.  No  care  or  neg- 
lect, at  least  in  any  definite  period  of  time,  can  transform 
it  into  a  noxious  weed.  But  on  every  mother's  bosom  there 
rests  a  bud  of  promise,  and  whether  or  not  that  promise 
shall  be  fulfilled  depends  upon  her.  Whether  that  bud 
shall  blossom  into  a  pure  and  fragrant  rose  or  into  the 
flower  of  the  deadly  nightshade,  is  at  the  option  of  the 
guardian. 

We  would  not,  however,  be  understood  as  teaching  the 
doctrine  long  since  abandoned  by  the  investigators  of 
human  science,  that  all  are  born  equal  as  regards  future 
possibilities.  If  men  had  known  the  subtle  laws  that  gov- 
ern the  development  of  the  human  intellect,  they  perhaps 

53 


Buds  of  Promise. 

might  have  traced  the  lightning's  course  through  the  infant 
brain  of  Franklin,  and  have  discerned  in  the  nascent  mind 
of  Newton  the  unlighted  lamp  whose  far-searching  beams 
have  since  guided  the  human  intellect  through  the  track- 
less void  of  the  night.  And  yet,  had  the  guardianship  of 
these  minds  been  different,  they  might  to-day  be  baleful 
blood-red  stars  in  the  firmament  of  guilt  and  sin.  Homer, 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  Washington,  Dante,  and  Longfellow, 
each  lay  as  a  little  bud  of  promise  on  a  mother's  bosom,  and 
yet  that  mother  knew  not  that  the  world  was  to  thunder 
with  applause  at  the  mention  of  her  dear  one's  name. 

Knew  not  ?  We  will  not,  however,  speak  thus  posi- 
tively, for  history  furnishes  much  evidence  that  with  the 
birth  of  such  a  bud  there  comes  a  hint  of  its  promise  ;  as  it 
were,  a  letter  to  its  guardian  from  the  Creator. 

3O  close  is  the  relation  between  mother  and  child  that 
to  the  spiritually  minded  mother  there  seems  to  come 
a  premonition  of  her  child's  destiny.  And  yet  this  fact 
does  not  in  the  least  lighten  the  burden  of  responsibility 
that  falls  on  every  mother  at  the  birth  of  her  child.  Such 
a  premonition,  indeed,  would  always  be  a  safe  guide  were 
it  always  given  ;  but  a  mother,  through  lack  of  suscep- 
tibility dependent  on  temperamental  conditions,  may  hold 
in  her  arms  unawares  that  which  the  world  has  a  right  to 
claim.  Out  from  among  the  thrice  ten  thousand  little  chil- 
dren that  swell  the  murmur  in  the  schoolrooms  of  the  great 

54 


Buds  of  Promise. 

cities,  or  with  bare  .  and  sunburnt  feet  patter  up  the 
aisles  of  those  dear  old  schoolhouses  that  nestle  among  the 
hills  and  valleys,  sacred  urns  that  hold  the  childish  secrets 
and  hallowed  memories  of  a  thousand  hearts,  out  from 
among  these  shall  the  angel  of  destiny  select  one  and  place 
upon  his  little  head  the  crown  of  Longfellow  and  dedicate 
him  to  the  service  of  his  kind,  and  make  him  the  sweet 
interpreter  of  star  and  flower. 

Mother  !  shall  it  be  your  boy  ?  Do  you  hear  in  your 
soul  the  gentle  whisper  ?  If  you  do,  wherever  you  may  be, 
may  the  benediction  of  humanity  rest  upon  you.  May 
your  precious  life  be  spared  to  watch  the  opening  of  that 
bud  of  promise.  As  friends  and  neighbors  assemble  to  see 
the  unfolding  of  the  night-blooming  cereus,  so  the  world 
shall  watch  the  unfolding  of  that  precious  bud. 

t  every  mother  act  as  if  she  held  a  bud  of  prom- 
ise. Let  those  who  have  riot  felt  the  premoni- 
tion attribute  it  to  their  insensibility.  Better  a  thousand 
times  bestow  your  tenderest  care  upon  an  idiot,  better 
believe  that  you  hold  the  bud  of  genius  and  awake  to  bitter 
disappointment,  than  to  learn  in  the  end  that  you  have 
failed  to  do  your  duty,  and  that  a  genius  grand  and  awful 
like  a  fallen  temple  lies  at  your  feet  in  the  pitiful  impo- 
tence of  manifest  but  unused  power. 

But  the  buds  of  promise  are  not  confined  to  the  great 
geniuses.  As  we  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter, 

55 


Buds  of  Promise. 

every  infant  is  a  bud  of  promise.  It  is  not  the  Washing- 
tons,  the  Pitts,  the  Lincolns,  that  shape  a  nation.  They 
are  the  directing  forces,  like  the  man  who  holds  the  levers 
and  valves  of  the  engine.  But,  as  after  all  it  is  the  toiling, 
puffing  steam  that  drags  the  train,  so  it  is  the  great  delv- 
ing, toiling,  sweating  multitude  that  shapes  the  character 
of  nations. 

It  was  not  her  statesmen  that  made  Greece  grand.  It 
was  the  character  of  her  citizenship.  The  mightiest  states- 
men that  the  world  has  ever  yet  produced  could  not  make 
a  grand  republic  in  the  South  Sea  islands.  What  a  nation 
needs  is  honest  toilers  ;  intelligent  and  scholarly  farmers, 
cautious,  scientific  and  temperate  railroad  engineers, 
learned  blacksmiths,  and  healthy,  intelligent,  and  pious 
wood  choppers. 

Thus  every  mother  is  the  guardian  of  a  bud  of  promise, 
and  whether  she  will  or  not  must  hold  herself  responsible 
for  the  blossom.  Let  her  not  hasten  to  rid  herself  of  that 
responsibility.  That  bud  will  open  soon  enough.  No  bud 
develops  so  rapidly  as  a  human  bud.  Let  it  remain  a  bud 
just  as  long  as  possible.  The  rose  acquires  its  perfume 
while  its  petals  are  folded,  and  the  longer  it  remains  a  bud, 
the  sweeter  will  be  the  blossom. 

Again,  it  is  the  most  rapidly  developing  bud  that 
soonest  fades.  Then  do  not  pull  apart  the  tender  petals  of 
that  bud  of  promise  in  order  to  hasten  its  unfolding,  lest  in 
an  hour  of  sadness  you  should  say  :  — 

56 


Buds  of  Promise. 

"  And  this  is  the  end  of  it  all : 

Of  my  waiting  and  my  pain  — 
Only  a  little  funeral  pall 
And  empty  arms  again." 

There  can  be  nothing  more  destructive  to  the  promises 
it  contains  than  to  attempt  to  open  a  rosebud  with  any 
other  instrument  than  a  sunbeam. 

The  world  is  full  of  the  withered  buds  of  human  prom- 
ise that  have  been  too  early  torn  open  by  the  thoughtless 
hand  of  parental  pride. 

The  crying  sin  of  modern  parents  is  their  unwilling- 
ness to  let  their  children  grow.  They  wish  to  transform 
them  all  at  once  from  prattling  infants  into  immortal 
geniuses.  They  have  more  faith  in  art  than  in  Nature,  in 
books  and  schoolrooms  than  in  brooks  and  groves. 

\rOUNG  children  should  not  only  be  kept  from  school, 
^  but  they  should  be  taught  at  home  very  sparingly 
and  with  the  greatest  caution  in  those  things  which  are 
generally  considered  as  constituting  an  education.  Many 
suppose  that  the  injury  of  too  early  mental  training  re- 
sults solely  from  the  confinement  within  the  schoolroom, 
but  this  is  a  great  mistake.  The  injury  results  chiefly 
from  determining  the  expenditure  of  nervous  energy 
through  the  brain  instead  of  through  the  muscular  system. 
Your  young  child  must  have  no  thoughts  except  those 

57 


Buds  of  Promise. 

which  originate  in  the  incoherent  activity  of  his  childish 
freedom. 

All  others  he  has  at  the  expense  of  bone  and  muscle, 
lung  and  stomach,  and  ultimately  at  the  expense  of  his 
whole  being.  The  solution  of  a  mathematical  problem  is 
as  much  a  physical  task  as  the  lifting  of  a  weight.  The 
passion  of  the  orator  and  the  devotion  of  the  saint  are 
both  measured  by  the  potentialities  of  bread  and  meat. 

So  that  those  who  try  to  fill  their  little  children's  minds 
with  "  great  thoughts  "  and  who  teach  them  to  meditate 
upon  the  great  realities  of  life,  thinking  thereby  to  make 
them  grand  and  great,  are  not  only  defeating  their  own 
ends,  but  are  destroying  the  foundations  of  future  possi- 
bility. They  are  turning  to  loathsome  foulness  the  sweet- 
est perfume  of  those  buds  whose  undeveloped  petals  they 
are  so  rudely  tearing  apart. 

I  HE  social  forces  of  the  present  age  are  such  as  to 
V  render  young  children  peculiarly  liable  to  precocity. 
Mentality  has  acquired  such  an  impetus  through  hereditary 
influences  that  the  minds  of  infants  early  commence  that 
fatal  race  of  thought,  which  results  in  the  wreck  of  so 
many  thousands  of  human  bodies.  Thoughtfulness  in 
youth,  and  even  in  childhood,  when  the  physical  system 
has  become  strong  enough  to  be  aggressive  in  its  relations 
to  the  natural  forces,  cannot  be  too  strongly  urged.  But 

58 


Buds  of  Promise. 

infantile  thought  is  not  only  useless,  but  is  a  great  evil, 
and  usually  involves  an  irreparable  waste  of  life  force. 

There  are  two  great  evils  whose  indirect  influence  upon 
the  world  cannot  be  estimated. 

The  one  is  the  overfeeding  of  infants,  and  the  other  is 
the  unnatural  and  abnormal  activity  of  the  infant  mind  ; 
and  the  one  evil  enhances  the  other,  for  there  is  nothing 
that  so  interferes  with  digestion  in  the  young  child  as 
thought. 

Wendell  Phillips  in  speaking  of  the  evils  of  American 
precocity,  with  his  characteristic  and  humorous  hyperbole, 
tells  us  that  the  American  infant  impatiently  raising  him- 
self in  the  cradle  begins  at  once  to  study  the  structure  and 
uses  of  the  various  objects  about  him,  and  before  he  is  nine 
months  old  has  procured  a  patent  for  an  improvement  on 
some  article  of  the  household  furniture. 

"  Who  can  tell  what  a  baby  thinks? 
Who  can  follow  the  gossamer  links 
By  which  the  manikin,  feels  his  way 
Out  from  the  shores  of  the  great  unknown, 
Blind,  and  wailing,  and  alone, 
Into  the  light  of  day? 
Out  from  the  shore  of  the  unknown  sea, 
Tossing  in  pitiful  agony, — 
Of  the  unknown  sea  that  reels  and  rolls, 
Specked  with  the  barks  of  little  souls  — 
Barks  that  were  launched  on  the  other  side, 
And  slipped  from  heaven  on  aii  ebbing  tide? 
59 


Buds  of  Promise. 

What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  eyes? 
What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  hair? 
What  of  the  cradle-roof  that  flies 
Forward  and  backward  through  the  air  ? 
What  does  he  think  of  his  mother's  breast, 
Bare  and  beautiful,  smooth  and  white, 
Seeking  it  ever  with  fresh  delight  — 
Cup  of  his  life  and  couch  of  his  rest?  " 


60 


CHAPTER  FIVE. 


Ctiildtiood. 


LL  animals  are  born  in  a  somewhat  helpless  condi- 
tion, but  none  so  helpless   as  the  human  being, 

hence   its   necessity  for  the    tenderest    care. 

Throughout  all  nature  it  is  the  function  of  the 
mother  to  exercise  a  special  care  over  the  young.  The 
mere  intellectual  desire  for  the  child's  welfare  is  not  suffi- 
cient to  insure  that  degree  of.  attention  which  it  requires  ; 
for  the  most  intelligent  and  even  Christian  mothers  are 
sometimes  utterly  neglectful  of  their  children,  while  the 
selfish  and  narrow  minded  are  frequently  very  tender  in 
their  attentions.  Why  is  this  ?  It  is  simply  because  the 
mother  love,  or,  more  properly,  the  parental  love,  is  not  the 
outgrowth  of  a  sense  of  duty.  It  is  an  instinct  which  we 
possess  in  common  with  the  brute.  It  is  a  significant  fact 
that  throughout  the  whole  animal  kingdom  the  parents 
possess  this  instinct  just  in  proportion  to  the  helplessness 
of  the  offspring. 

The  home  is  a  universal  institution,  and  exists  among 
the  lower  'animals  in  a  measure,  even.     It  was,  doubtless, 

61 


Childhood. 

designed  to  meet  the  necessities  arising  from  the  helpless- 
ness of  offspring.  The  young  lion  could  not  accompany  its 
parents  in  their  search  for  food,  nor  could  the  eaglet  soar 
with  its  mother  into  the  heavens.  Hence  the  necessity  of  an 
instinct  that  should  prompt  the  lion  and  the  eagle  to  select 
and  prepare  a  proper  place  in  which  to  leave  their  young 
while  they  were  attending  to  the  duties  imposed  by  their 
mode  of  life.  So  reason  may  tell  us  that  it  would  be  far 
better  for  us  to  take  good  care  of  our  children,  and  to  pro- 
vide for  them  a  suitable  home,  but  our  observation  of  those 
in  whom  the  instinct  is  weak  convinces  us  that  mere 
reason  seldom  produces  this  result.  While  the  intellect 
tells  us  what  we  ought  to  do,  it  gives  no  impulse  to  do  it ; 
but  instinct  gives  the  impulse,  the  desire  to  do,  and  when 
the  instinct  is  in  a  healthy  condition  we  may  rely  on  the 
intellect  of  Him  who  implanted  the  instinct,  for  the  fitness 
of  the  acts  to  which  it  prompts  us.  Indeed,  it  is  a  law  of  our 
being  that  reason  cannot  perform  the  office  of  an  instinct. 
It  may  tell  us  that  we  ought  to  breathe  incessantly,  but 
there  are  few  of  us  who  would  not  forget  the  duty  were  it 
not  for  the  instinctive  impulse. 

Without  the  home  instinct,  the  legitimate  desire  for 
novelty  which  all  possess  would  be  left  unbalanced,  and 
the  whole  human  race  would  wander  from  place  to  place, 
and  the  world  would  become  one  mighty  caravan.  With- 
out the  instinct  of  parental  love,  the  child  would  be  held  in 
the  same  esteem  as  any  other  person  who  should  give  us 

62 


Childhood. 

the  same  amount  of  trouble.  And  since  it  is  a  law  of  our 
selfish  nature  that  unless  provision  is  made  by  special  in- 
stinct, we  cannot  love  that  which  gives  us  only  pain,  the 
child's  lot  on  earth  would  indeed  be  an  unenviable  one. 
But  the  instinct  transforms  all  the  pain  and  trouble  into 
joy,  so  that  the  parents  are  not  only  made  willing  thereby 
to  incur  all  the  troubles  and  anxieties  which  their  children 
bring,  but  are  even  made  to  take  positive  delight  in  incur- 
ring them. 

The  home  instinct  and  that  of  parental  love  are  closely 
allied,  and  so  intimate  is  their  relation  that  we  cannot 
doubt  that  they  were  bestowed  with  reference  to  each  other. 
It  is  true  that  many  other  blessings,  even  the  sweetest  joys 
of  life,  are  rooted  in  the  home  instinct ;  but  these  are  all 
secondary  and  subsidiary  to  the  one  grand  end,  the  home  of 
childhood. 

Home  is  the  only  place  where  childhood  can  develop. 
It  is  there  only  that  are  to  be  found  those  influences  which 
are  necessary  to  fertilize  the  character  of  the  child  and 
cause  it  to  blossom  and  bear  the  fruit  of  a  noble  life.  Why 
have  nearly  all  great  men  had  homes  illustrious  for  their 
beauty,  and  the  purity  of  their  influences  ?  The  answer 
is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  soil  of  home  contains  just 
those  elements  required  for  the  growth  and  development  of 
the  child's  body,  mind,  and  soul. 

Notice  closely  the  figure,   the  face,   the  features,  the 

voice  of  that  little  street  waif.     Why  is  his  frame  so  small 

63 


Childhood. 

and  shrunken  ?  Why  are  his  features  all  crowded  and 
pinched  ?  Why  do  his  eye,  his  walk,  his  voice,  and  his  man- 
ner suggest  dwarfed  precocity  ?  For  the  same  reason  that 
an  apple  which  has  been  early  detached  from  its  stem  will 
become  early  ripe,  but  never  developed.  Subject  it  to 
whatever  treatment  we  may,  it  will  shrivel  up  and  become 
insipid,  fit  symbol  of  the  boy  who  was  early  dropped  from 
the  home  into  the  street. 

The  home  is  the  garden  where  buds  become  fruit.  How 
important  then  that  the  garden  be  kept  free  from  weeds, 
while  it  is  enriched  with  affection  and  exposed  to  the  sun- 
light of  joy.  How  slight  an  influence  may  serve  to  blight 
that  opening  bud. 

The  child  is  as  impressible  as  he  is  helpless.  He  is  sim- 
ply the  raw  material  out  of  which  character  is  to  be  fash- 
ioned by  the  silent  and  almost  imperceptible  influence  of 
his  surroundings.  And  it  is  this  which 

"  Plants  the  great  hereafter  in  the  now." 

Silently  as  the  falling  of  snow-flakes  the  character  of 
the  child  is  formed.  We  cannot  see  the  bud  unfold,  and  yet 
we  know  that  to-morrow  it  will  be  a  rose.  So  our  percep- 
tion cannot  follow  the  growth  of  the  child's  character,  and 
yet  we  know  that  day  by  day  its  forces  are  gathering,  and 
that  soon  he  will  become  to  his  anxious  parents  a  joy  or  a 
sorrow. 

Children  are  much  more  easily  influenced  by  example 

64 


Childhood. 

than  by  precept.  A  child  may  be  told  repeatedly  that  dis- 
honesty is  sinful,  yet  if  he  detect  dishonesty  in  father, 
mother,  sister,  or  brother,  he  will  imitate  the  example.  You 
may  as  well  tell  him  that  sinfulness  is  dishonesty,  for  he 
knows  no  difference.  Both  terms  are  meaningless  to  him. 
Most  of  the  thieves,  robbers,  and  murderers  of  the  next 
generation  are  now  little  innocent  children  in  the  arms  of 
mothers.  How  should  mothers  shudder  at  this  thought ! 
The  first  evidence  of  passion  or  of  evil  intent,  the  first 
manifestation  of  dishonesty,  should  alarm  the  mother  like 
the  cry  of  fire  in  the  night. 

"  The  summer  breeze  that  fans  the  rose, 
Or  eddies  down  some  flowery  path, 
Is  but  the  infant  gale  that  blows 

To-morrow  with  the  whirlwind's  wrath." 

Jyi  OTHERS  !  you  cann'ot  watch  the  formation  of  child 
V_  character  too  critically.  By  watching,  however, 
we  do  not  mean  the  exercise  of  that  suspicion  and  doubt 
which  are  so  fatal  to  the  free,  open  confidence  of  the  child, 
but  that  cautious  surveillance  without  which  all  your 
efforts  in  his  behalf  will  be  fruitless.  Better  a  thousand 
times  that  the  child,  even  in  his  tender  years,  should  gaze 
full  upon  the  hideous  face  of  sin,  than  that  the  silken  cord 
of  confidence  be  broken  that  binds  him  to  a  mother's  heart. 
Liberty  is  the  only  atmosphere  in  which  a  human  soul  can 
grow.  Strict  literal  watching  is  both  unnecessary  and  inju- 

65 


Childhood. 

rious.  Confidence  between  mother  and  child  may  become 
so  perfect  that  the  child  cannot  commit  a  wrong  without 
confessing  it.  Your  watching  then  should  be  directed  to 
the  maintenance  of  this  confidence,  which  can  be  insured 
only  by  putting  the  child  upon  his  honor,  for  honor  grows 
only  by  being  exercised.  With  this  confidence  between 
yourself  and  your  child  you  will  at  all  times  be  conscious 
of  his  moral  condition.  You  will  feel  in  your  very  heart 
the  first  dawnings  of  evil  thought  in  him.  And  remember 
that  it  is  necessary  you  should  know  the  evil  thoughts  as 
soon  as  they  dawn,  for  the  conflagration  that  scourges 
with  its  fury  great  cities  is  less  dangerous  at  its  onset  than 
the  first  evil  thought  in  the  heart  of  youth. 

"  Crush  the  first  germ  ;  too  late  your  cares  begin 
When  long  delays  have  fortified  the  sin." 

But  by  nature  the  young  child  is  innocent,  and  positive 
influences  for  evil  must  be  brought  to  bear  upon  him  be- 
fore he  can  become  otherwise.  With  his  half  divine  na- 
ture he  recoils  from  the  very  sight  or  sound  of  that  which 
is  wrong.  Yet  he  is  so  imitative  and  so  susceptible  that 
his  danger  is  nevertheless  imminent,  and  the  fact  that  he 
may  more  readily  imitate  the  good  than  the  evil  should 
not  relax  parental  vigilance. 


66 


Childhood. 

yOUNG  children  and  even  infants  comprehend  far 
^  more  than  people  generally  believe.  They  cannot 
express  their  mental  operations  by  the  use  of  language. 
Their  thoughts  are  expressed  only  by  their  actions,  and  how 
vague  an  idea  of  the  thoughts  of  the  profoundest  thinkers 
would  we  have  if  our  only  clue  to  them  were  the  mere 
outward  acts  of  their  authors.  Were  actions  the  only  inter- 
preters of  human  thought,  the  world  would  appear  to  us 
like  a  vast  insane  asylum. 

Happiness  is  the  only  food  on  which  the  child  can  be 
fed  with  profit.  Sorrow  is  sometimes  an  excellent  thing 
for  those  whose  spiritual  digestion  is  sufficiently  strong, 
but  children  never  should  be  fed  on  this  diet.  Sorrow 
ripens,  but  joy  develops  a  soul.  But  let  us  not  entertain 
that  foolish  and  cruel  notion  so  prevalent,  that  hard 
knocks,  disappointment,"  constant  work,  and  little  recrea- 
tion are  necessary  to  develop  the  character  of  a  child. 
Some  one  has  given  the  following  beautiful  piece  of  advice 
to  mothers  :  — 

"Always  send  your  little  child  to  bed  happy.  What- 
ever cares  may  trouble  your  mind,  give  the  dear  child  a 
warm  good-night  kiss  as  it  goes  to  its  pillow.  The  memory 
of  this  in  the  stormy  years  which  may  be  in  store  for  the 
little  one  will  be  like  Bethlehem's  star  to  the  bewildered 
shepherds,  and  welling  up  in  the  heart  will  rise  the  thought, 
'  My  father,  my  mother  loved  me  ! '  Lips  parched  with 

67 


Childhood. 

fever  will  become  dewy  again  at  this  thrill  of  youthful 
memories.     Kiss  your  little  child  before  it  goes  to  sleep." 

"Ah  !  what  would  the  world  be  to  us 

If  the  children  were  no  more? 
We  should  dread  the  desert  behind  us 
Worse  than  the  dark  before. 

"  What  the  leaves  are  to  the  forest, 

With  light  and  air  for  food, 
Ere  their  sweet  and  tender  juices 
Have  been  hardened  into  wood, — 

' '  That  to  the  world  are  children  ; 

Through  them  it  feels  the  glow 
Of  a  brighter  and  sunnier  climate 
Than  reaches  the  trunks  below." 


68 


l$g!  1 

^55 

rs  s>  i 

9y  -  -^ 

fe>    c    " 


, 

*"    M 
QJ    m 


CHAPTER    SIX. 


Home   Training. 


i  I       bo 

-*— 


HE  training  of  the  child  necessarily  begins  with  the 
body,  for  the  young  child  must  be  regarded  chiefly 


-*—  as  a  young  animal.  The  animal  nature  is  the  first 
to  be  developed,  and  in  every  well-born  and  healthy 
child  the  manifestations  of  animality  will  precede  those  of 
intellectuality.  One  has  said,  "  If  you  would  make  your 
child  a  good  man,  first  make  him  a  great  animal."  The 
child's  prospects  of  future  greatness  are  measured  in  part 
by  his  stomach  and  lungs. 

The  most  important  period  of  a  child's  training,  then,  is 
that  period  during  which  he  is  an  animal.  Nature's  method 
seems  to  be  to  form  first  a  powerful  physical  system,  and 
then,  on  this  as  a  foundation,  to  rear  the  intellectual  and 
the  moral.  If  the  physical  is  diseased,  the  mental,  gen- 
erally speaking,  cannot  be  healthy.  One  of  the  most 
important  elements  in  a  great  man  is  a  great  body,  great  in 
health,  in  vital  stamina,  and  in  its  capacity  to  become  the 
counterpart  of  the  mind. 

In  view  of  these  facts  it  becomes  of  paramount  impor- 
tance that  the  mother  have  a  knowledge  of  physiology. 

71 


Home  Training. 

No  woman  has  any  moral  right  to  bear  the  honored  name 
of  mother  till  she  possesses  such  knowledge.  We  would 
not  place  a  delicate  machine  in  the  hands  of  one  who  was 
ignorant  of  its  structure.  Not  that  the  mother  should  be  a 
physician;  for  she  generally  practices  medicine  too  much. 
It  is  as  important  that  she  should  know  how  to  let  her 
child  alone,  as  to  know  how  to  take  care  of  him.  It  is  not 
necessary  that  she  should  know  just  what  to  do  for  him 
when  he  is  sick.  It  is  much  better  for  her  to  know  what 
not  to  do  for  him.  It  is  the  doctor's  duty  to  cure  him  when 
he  is  sick,  but  it  is  the  mother's  duty  to  give  the  doctor  as 
little  opportunity  as  possible  to  display  his  skill  in  this 
direction. 

Let  every  mother  remember  this  fact,  that  the  cry  of  a 
sick  child  may  be  the  telltale  that  convicts  her  of  sin.  A 
child  never  cries  unless  it  has  been  wronged  by  inattention, 
or  as  a  signal  of  distress.  A  healthy  child  is  always 
angelic.  No  parent  has  any  business  with  any  but  a  healthy 
child,  for  wholesome  food  in  proper  quantities  never 
deranged  a  stomach.  Pure  air  never  diseased  a  lung.  A 
human  eye  was  never  blinded  by  the  diffused  sunlight. 
Teeth  never  decayed  through  grinding  pure  and  wholesome 
food. 

NO  child,  unless  his  appetite  has  been  pampered  by  a 
foolish  mother,  will  ever  crave  that  which  it  is  nec- 
essary to  withhold  from  him.     Nor  will  his  appetite  ever 

72 


Home  Training. 

require  to  be  urged.  No  rational  person  will  contend  that 
reason  should  usurp  the  place  of  instinct  in  the  matter  of 
eating  and  drinking.  Those  delicate  conditions  of  the  sys- 
tem in  which  it  accepts  or  rejects  nourishment  are  entirely 
beyond  the  ken  of  reason.  Through  the  whole  animal 
kingdom,  including  man,  there  is  an  instinct  which  tells  its 
possessor  just  what  kind  of  food  and  how  much  its  sys- 
tem requires.  No  tests  of  science  could  determine  this. 
Tyndall  may  exhaust  all  his  resources  in  trying  to  deter- 
mine whether  or  not  a  given  robin  has  eaten  enough  to 
meet  the  requirements  of  its  physical  nature.  At  his  best 
he  can  only  estimate  it,  but  the  robin  knows  exactly. 

We  have  known  a  mother  to  urge  her  little  baby  to  sip 
from  her  own  cup  of  tea,  and  have  seen  her  appear  quite 
grieved  because  the  little  creature  with  pure  mind  and 
pure  body  instinctively  rejected  the  proffered  beverage. 
And,  after  being  defeated  in  her  attempt  to  vitiate  his 
taste,  she  would  exclaim,  "I  fear  my  child  is  going  to  be 
eccentric." 

Some  mothers  are  almost  terrified  at  seeing  a  child  eat 
a  piece  of  bread  without  butter,  although  writers  on  hygi- 
ene, whose  books  are  within  the  reach  of  all  mothers,  are 
agreed  that  butter  is  one  of  the  abominations  of  civili- 
zation. It  is  not  our  intention  to  write  on  the  subject  of 
health  or  diet,  but  so  long  as  butter,  spices,  and  other  un- 
necessaries  are  admitted  to  be  evils,  it  seems  unpardonably 
foolish,  not  to  say  wicked,  to  urge  the  young  child  to  use 

73 


Home  Training. 

them,  especially  since  he  does  not  desire  them,  and  shows 
by  his  actions  that  he  would  much  prefer  not  to  have  his 
food  polluted  with  such  stuff.  Let  the  mother  refrain  from 
pampering  her  child's  appetite,  or  else  be  willing  to  take 
the  consequences  when  that  same  appetite,  diseased  and 
perverted  by  her  own  hand,  shall  bring  him  home  reeling 
and  staggering  to  her  frantic  arms.  That  mighty  army 
of  one  hundred  thousand  who  are  annually  marching 
down  to  drunkards'  graves  were,  in  some  part,  we  believe, 
trained  for  that  awful  march  by  careless  and  ignorant 
mothers. 

It  is  admitted  by  all  that  alcohol  is  repugnant  to  the 
unvitiated  taste  of  man  or  beast.  No  child  with  instincts 
pure  from  the  hand  of  God  will  taste  alcohol  ;  it  is  not 
until  his  appetite  has  been  depraved  by  Mrs.  Winslow's 
Soothing  Syrups  and  other  abominations.  All  these  must 
first  be  forced  down  his  throat  by  the  stern  exercise  of 
parental  authority  before  he  learns  to  tolerate  alcohol  in 
any  form.  The  child's  instinct  is  God's  argument,  and  it  is 
unanswerable.  If  it  be  true,  then,  that  a  healthy  instinct 
rejects  alcohol,  how  shall  we  account  for  the  almost  uni- 
versal appetite  for  it  ?  There  can  be  but  one  explanation, 
some  almost  universal  depraving  agency ;  and  what  can 
this  be  but  the  wrong  physical  training  to  which  parents 
subject  their  offspring. 


Home  Training. 

I  HE  problem  of  home  training  to-day  covers  the  prob- 

V.  lem  of  intemperance.  So  long  as  children  are  grow- 
ing up  with  a  taste  for  the  nostrums  with  which  babies  are 
universally  poisoned,  the  world  will  be  full  of  drunkards. 

But  it  is  not  alone  the  poisonous  nostrums  which  de- 
prave the  appetite.  The  cookies,  candies,  sweetmeats  and 
the  thousand  products  of  human  ingenuity  and  a  luxurious 
civilization  conspire  to  destroy  that  pure  instinct  which 
God  designed  to  be  a  perfect  guide  as  regards  the  quantity 
and  quality  of  our  food.  We  do  not  understand  how 
Christian  mothers  can  consistently  express  their  faith  in 
God  while  their  acts  show  that  they  distrust  the  wisdom 
which  gave  the  child  this  instinct. 

The  little  child  is  fed  on  flesh,  pickles,  and  highly  sea- 
soned food  till  he  becomes  sick  ;  then  of  course  he  cries. 
That  breaks  the  mother's  heart  and  she  gives  him  a  cooky 
to  stop  his  crying  before  he  goes  to  bed.  She  cannot  bear 
the  idea  of  her  child  going  to  bed  hungry.  The  cooky 
may  give  him  the  colic,  but  what  of  it  so  long  as  he  is  not 
hungry  !  She  cannot  tell  whether  he  has  the  colic  or  the 
headache,  but  if  he  cries  he  must  have  some  medicine.  It 
is  of  but  little  consequence  what  it  is  so  long  as  it  is 
medicine.  We  have  actually  heard  mothers,  when  ques- 
tioned as  to  why  they  gave  their  babies  a  certain  kind  of 
medicine,  answer  that  they  "  wished  to  give  them  some- 
thing and  didn't  know  what  else  to  give  them."  We  pre- 
75 


Home  Training. 

sume  it  never  occurred  to  them  to  give  the  baby  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt. 

The  disposition  depends  upon  the  condition  of  the 
stomach.  If  that  be  sour,  the  disposition  will  be  sour  also. 
Many  a  good  child  has  had  his  disposition  spoiled  with 
cake  and  candy.  A  tendency  to  all  forms  of  depravity 
may  result  from  a  diseased  condition  of  the  digestion. 
Every  form  of  sin  may  originate  with  the  stomach.  Al- 
most all  of  the  suicides  result  from  the  mental  disease  of 
melancholy.  This  disease  is  known  by  all  physicians  to  be 
the  direct  result  of  an  affection  of  the  liver,  and  the  liver 
and  stomach  are  so  related  that  the  one  cannot  be  affected 
without  the  other.  Hence  a  wrong  physical  training  of  a 
child  may  lead  to  suicide. 

The  habit  of  dwelling  perpetually  on  the  dark  side  of 
life,  as  the  melancholy  person  does,  results  in  the  perver- 
sion and  depravity  of  the  whole  mind.  Thus  every  sin 
may  originate  in  the  stomach. 

I  HERE  are  mothers  who  would  regard  the  withhold- 
V  ing  of  sweetmeats  from  their  children  as  cruelty. 
It  is  hard  to  believe  that  such  persons  exist,  but  observa- 
tion forces  the  fact  upon  us.  Such  mothers,  of  course,  can 
appreciate  no  higher  enjoyment  than  that  of  eating  and 
drinking,  and  they  feel  perfectly  contented  so  long  as  their 
children  are  eating  something  'that  tastes  good.  They 
never  stop  to  question  whether  the  physical  pleasure 

76 


Home  Training. 

which  a  piece  of  highly  spiced  mince  pie  yields  their  child 
can  compensate  for  the  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral 
depravity  that  may  result  from  it.  The  mother  who  gives 
her  child  candy,  cakes,  etc.,  simply  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
child,  without  regard  to  their  effect  on  his  health,  what- 
ever may  be  the  character  of  her  outward  life,  is  in  spirit  a 
sensualist. 

It  is  customary  for  mothers  when  their  children  get 
angry  and  scream,  to  give  them  something  that  tastes 
good  to  eat.  Now  this  is  a  twofold  evil.  It  is  both  a  phys- 
ical and  a  moral  evil.  It  is  a  physical  evil  because  it  tends 
directly  to  produce  dyspepsia.  The  human  stomach  can- 
not perform  its  functions  properly  while  the  mind  is  angry. 
The  adage,  "  Laugh  and  grow  fat,"  is  founded  in  true 
philosophy.  In  order  for  digestion  to  be  performed  in  the 
most  perfect  manner  there  must  be  at  the  time  of  eating  a 
sense  of  peace  and  joy  pervading  the  mind,  making  the 
very  consciousness  of  existence  delightful.  All  have 
observed  that  the  dyspeptic  men  are  those  who  are  fretful 
and  cross  at  the  table.  The  tea  is  too  cold ;  the  coffee  is 
too  weak  ;  the  steak  is  cooked  too  much  or  not  enough  ; 
the  potatoes  should  have  been  baked  instead  of  boiled  ; 
there  is  too  much  saleratus  in  the  biscuit  ;  or  there  is  some 
trouble  with  something  —  enough  to  cast  a  shadow  over 
the  whole  meal  and  cause  the  whole  family  to  sit  in 
gloomy  silence. 

This  is  not  so  much  because  dyspepsia  tends  to  make 

77 


Home  Training. 

people  cross  at  their  meals,  but  because  being  cross  at 
meals  makes  them  dyspeptics.  Many  men  have  become 
incurably  diseased  by  eating  when  they  were  angry,  and 
the  mother  who  gives  her  child  a  cooky  to  stop  his  crying 
may  be  laying  for  him  the  foundation  of  a  life  of  suffer- 
ing. 

Again,  such  a  practice  is  morally  wrong  because  it 
rewards  a  child  for  being  angry.  In  this  way  he  learns, 
whenever  he  wishes  anything,  to  scream  and  cry  until  his 
wish  is  gratified.  He  soon  acquires  such  a  habit  that  he 
does  this  even  though  no  one  be  near  to  grant  the  wish. 
This  is  his  first  lesson  in  rebellion  against  an  unseen  power. 
As  he  grows  older,  the  screaming  is  changed  into  cursing, 
and  thus  originates  the  habit  of  profanity.  Men  swear 
chiefly  because  their  mothers  gave  them  cookies  to  stop 
their  crying.  When  mothers  learn  the  secret  of  home  train- 
ing, the  majority  of  the  vices  that  now  curse  the  world  will 
die  out  for  want  of  soil  in  which  to  grow. 

rVLL  children   are  overfed.     There  is  no  danger  that 
V.,    any  child  will  starve  so  long  as  its  mother  loves 
it,  but  there  is  great  danger  that  it  will  be  fed  to  death. 

But,  says  the  mother,  how  shall  I  avoid  these  evils  ? 
How  shall  I  keep  my  child's  appetite  healthy  ?  And  when 
he  screams  and  will  not  be  satisfied  with  anything  but  a 
peppermint,  what  shall  I  do  ?  These  are  honest  questions. 

78 


Home  Training. 

No  mother  willfully  injures  her  child  by  knowingly 
depraving  his  appetite,  and  thereby  all  his  passions.  It  is, 
of  course,  through  ignorance  and  not  malice. 

The  remedy  is  the  most  easy  and  natural  thing  in  the 
world.  Simply  let  the  child  alone,  that  is  all.  Children 
have  a  divinely  given  right  to  be  let  alone,  but  this  right 
has  never  been  granted  by  man.  Your  child  will  keep  his 
own  appetite  healthy  if  you  will  let  him.  When  he 
screams  for  that  which  it  is  not  lawful  for  him  to  have,  the 
treatment  is  very  simple,  let  him  scream.  The  human 
mind  acts  from  motives  and  never  without  them.  The 
child  screams  either  to  make  you  yield  to  him,  or  from 
a  feeling  of  revenge  because  you  do  not  yield. 

Now  the  only  way  to  prevent  a  mental  act  is  to  take 
away  the  motives  which  prompt  to  the  act.  Hence  the  way 
to  break  a  child  of  the  vice  of  screaming  is  to  remove  these 
two  motives.  The  first  you  can  remove  by  showing  him 
that  your  word  is  law.  When  you  have  commanded 
him  to  do  or  refrain  from  doing  a  certain  thing,  make 
him  understand  that  you  will  not  revoke  your  order,  and 
that  further  pleading  will  be  in  vain. 

The  second  motive,  that  of  revenge,  may  be  removed  by 
proving  to  him  that  it  "doesn't  work."  Show  by  your 
indifference  that  his  loud  crying  does  not  give  you  the  least 
inconvenience.  You  can  accompany  the  music  with  the 
humming  of  a  careless  tune.  He  will  see  by  this  that  his 
scheme  of  vengeance  is  defeated,  and  there  will  be  nothing 

79 


Home  Training. 

left  for  him  to  do  but  to  stop  crying  and  amuse  himself  as 
best  he  can. 

If  it  is  time  to  put  your  little  child  to  bed,  do  not  coax 
him  to  go  and  then  be  conquered  by  coaxing  in  return.  Do 
not  be  conquered  at  all.  In  the  first  place,  you  should  not 
tell  him  to  go  to  bed  till  you  know  that  it  is  time  for  him  to 
go,  and  not  till  you  are  determined  he  shall  go.  It  is  not 
necessary  that  you  be  arbitrary.  There  is  no  objection  to 
arguing  with  him,  if  your  command  at  the  time  is  not  fully 
understood  by  him.  Try  to  convince  him  that  he  ought  to 
do  as  you  tell  him.  In  every  instance  the  import  of  the 
word  ought  should  be  kept  before  his  mind.  But  if  he  still 
resists,  use  the  argument  of  force,  paying  no  attention  to 
his  cries  and  screams. 

We  do  not  write  thus  coldly  and  unfeelingly  from  any 
lack  of  love  for  little  children.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
wide  realm  of  being  so  lovely  and  pathetic  as  a  young 
child.  There  is  no  eloquence  that  can  equal  its  prattle. 
No  mother  can  love  her  child  too  much.  It  is  not  the  in- 
tensity of  the  mother's  love  that  we  would  condemn,  but 
the  unwise  and  injudicious  direction  of  that  love.  And 
when  we  say  the  child  should  be  let  alone,  we  do  not 
mean  that  he  should  be  coldly  neglected,  but  simply  that 
he  should  be  allowed  to  grow  and  develop  in  the  soil  of  his 
own  childish  freedom  ;  that  his  body  should  be  left  chiefly 
to  the  care  of  its  own  instinct,  while  the  mother  watches 
the  process  with  delight. 

80 


Home  Training. 

Mothers  usually  make  much  harder  the  work  of  taking 
care  of  their  children  than  the  necessities  of  the  case  re- 
quire. Most  mothers  may  learn  a  valuable  lesson  from  the 
cat.  See  how  she  takes  care  of  her  kittens.  She  does  not 
doctor  them  ;  she  manifests  no  anxiety  for  their  physical 
welfare.  She  simply  watches  the  kitten's  growth,  and 
doesn't  assume  any  higher  prerogative.  She  brings  a 
mouse  and  lays  it  before  the  little  savage,  but  she  does  not 
urge  the  case  in  the  least.  If  the  kitten  does  not  want  it, 
she  does  not  say,  "I'm  afraid  my  little  darling  is  going  to 
be  sick.  Can't  he  eat  it  anyway  ?  Please  eat  it  for 
mamma."  O  no,  she  just  eats  it  herself,  and  does  not  seem 
to  have  the  least  fear  that  nature  will  forget  to  bring  back 
her  child's  appetite.  Nor  does  she  seem  to  resent  the  kit- 
ten's refusal  to  accept  her  offer,  but  the  next  mouse  is  usu- 
ally eaten  with  a  relish.  Thus  the  cat  is  wiser  than  the 
human  mother,  for  she  is  wise  enough  to  intrust  to  nature 
those  things  which  she  herself  is  not  wise  enough  to  do. 

The  world  has  yet  to  learn  that  the  little  children  are 
its  physical  and  spiritual  teachers.  When  Christ  would 
name  the  greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  he  said, 
"Whoso  humbleth  himself  as  this  little  child,  the  same  is 
greatest  in  the  kingdom  of  Heaven,"  thus  making  it  a 
kingdom  of  little  children.  There  was  philosophy  in  that 
beautiful  reply  of  Christ's.  All  sin  consists  simply  in  the 
acts  that  are  prompted  by  instincts  which  have  been 
depraved.  Children's  instincts  are  least  depraved,  for  they 

81 


Home  Training. 

are  nearest  to  the  source  of  all  purity.     Hence  the  child's 
heart  must  always  be  the  truest  symbol  of  Heaven. 


1  *  |E  do  not  belong  to  that  school  whose  motto  is  "spare 
^  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child."  We  believe  that 
untold  evil  has  resulted  to  the  world  from  that  false  philos- 
ophy, and  we  are  glad  to  know  that  the  world  is  rapidly 
discarding  it.  To  say  nothing  of  the  morality,  or  rather 
immorality,  of  the  doctrine,  it  is  entirely  unnecessary. 
How  foolish  to  break  the  sweet  spell  of  confidence  by  beat- 
ing and  striking,  when  the  little  heart  can  be  melted  in 
penitential  grief  by  a  word  !  Why  use  sticks  and  clubs 
when  the  child  does  not  fear  them  half  so  much  as  he  does 
his  mother's  grief  !  Hyenas  snarl  and  growl  and  strike, 
and  some  mothers  snarl  and  scold  and  strike.  Isn't  the 
analogy  almost  humiliating  ? 

But  this  method  of  treatment  does  not  accomplish  the 
desired  result.  Whipping  a  child  does  not  and  cannot 
produce  any  desirable  internal  change  of  character.  It 
may  modify  the  outward  acts.  It  may  also  produce  an  in- 
ternal change,  but  only  for  the  worse  ;  only  that  change 
which  comes  from  perpetually  harboring  a  feeling  of 
hatred  and  revenge.  A  blow  struck  upon  unregenerate 
humanity  can  awaken  but  one  feeling,  and  that  is  the  feel- 
ing of  resentment.  The  child  always  resents  a  blow, 
whether  it  comes  from  his  parent  or  from  a  playmate.  He 

82 


Home  Training. 

cannot  easily  be  made  to  acknowledge  in  his  heart  that  the 
punishment  is  just ;  and  while  he  believes  that  it  is  unjust 
he  will  feel  rebellious,  and  no  one  will  contend  that  a 
rebellious  feeling  can  do  much  toward  elevating  the  char- 
acter. 

The  feelings  of  anger,  hatred,  and  physical  fear  are 
among  those  which  we  have  in  common  with  the  brutes, 
and  while  we  are  under  the  dominion  of  these  feelings  we 
cannot  rise  much  above  the  brute.  All  know  how  utterly 
depraving  anger  is  to  the  whole  mind,  and  the  effect  of 
physical  fear  is  nearly  as  bad.  Some  who  have  been 
thought  noble  have  been  known  when  brought  face  to  face 
with  death  upon  the  ocean,  to  rudely  snatch  a  life-pre- 
server from  a  helpless  woman  ;  thus  showing  how  physical 
fear  may  paralyze  the  sense  of  honor  and  every  other 
noble  sentiment  of  the  soul. 

Now  what  is  true  of  the  man  under  the  influence  of  an 
intense  fear  is  also  true  of  the*  child  under  the  influence  of 
a  less  intense  fear.  It  is  the  nature  of  fear,  whether  great 
or  small,  to  repress  all  that  is  God-like  and  arouse  all  that 
is  demoniacal.  You  cannot  inflict  corporal  punishment  on 
a  child  without  filling  his  little  heart  with  fear.  It  is  a 
well  known  fact  that  under  a  cruel  and  tyrannical  teacher 
the  pupils  rapidly  become  vicious  and  untrustworthy. 
This  is  simply  because  of  the  moral  repression  resulting 
from  constant  fear.  Then  do  not  frighten  the  children. 
Every  argument  that  can  be  deduced  from  the  wide  range 

83 


Home  Training. 

of  human  nature  forbids  us  to  inflict  corporal  punishment 
on  children. 

"  But,'' says  the  disciple  of  the  rod,  ''the  child  can  be 
made  to  acknowledge  the  justice  of  the  punishment,  and 
ought  not  to  be  punished  until  he  does  acknowledge  it. 
By  the  proper  argument  he  may  be  made  to  feel  that  he 
deserves  to  be  punished."  Very  well  ;  then  he  doesn't 
need  to  be  punished.  The  object  of  punishment  of  course 
is  to  induce  penitence,  and  if  the  child  becomes  penitent 
before  the  punishment,  he  certainly  doesn't  need  to  be 
punished.  Who  would  punish  a  child  after  he  had 
acknowledged  that  he  ought  to  be  ?  Think  of  the  mother 
who  could  whip  her  child  after  he  had  laid  his  head  sob- 
bing on  her  bosom  and  said,  "  Mamma,  I  ought  to  be 
whipped  ! "  And  yet,  according  to  the  admission  of  even 
the  Solomon  school,  he  should  be  willing  to  say  this  before 
he  ought  to  be  whipped.  He  must  be  made  penitent  before 
the  punishment  can  have  any  but  an  evil  effect. 

The  whole  truth  is  expressed  in  these  two  facts.  First, 
we  ought  not  to  punish  a  child  till  he  sees  and  acknowl- 
edges the  justice  of  the  punishment ;  and  second,  when  he 
sees  and  acknowledges  the  justice  of  the  punishment,  he 
doesn't  need  it.  Thus  the  doctrine  of  the  rod  is  crowded 
out  entirely.  There  are  no  circumstances  under  which  it 
is  proper  to  use  it. 


84 


Home  Training. 

I  HE   object  of  all  training  is   to    develop  character, 

^  and  not  merely  to  secure  outward  obedience.  A 
child  may  be  a  model  of  obedience,  and  yet  with  every 
duty  which  he  outwardly  performs  he  may  mingle  an 
unuttered  curse. 

With  a  horse  or  dog  the  prime  object  is  to  secure  out- 
ward obedience.  We  care  but  little  about  the  moral  char- 
acter or  the  spiritual  destiny  of  our  horse,  so  long  as  he 
obeys  the  whip  and  stops  when  we  say  "whoa  !"  But 
what  parent  could  say  this  of  a  child  !  The  true  mother 
cares  less  for  the  outward  act  than  for  the  inward.  It  is 
not  so  much  her  object  to  make  the  child  obey  her  com- 
mands as  it  is  to  make  him  obey  the  commands  of  his  own 
conscience  and  the  spur  of  duty.  If  the  child  is  inter- 
nally obedient  to  his  own  conscience,  he  will  develop  a 
noble  character  even  though  he  disobey  every  parental 
command. 

Let  every  parent  remember  that  there  may  be  a  vast 
difference  between  outward  and  inward  obedience,  and 
that  either  may  exist  without  the  other.  The  child  may 
not  cherish  any  feelings  of  hatred  toward  his  parents,  nor 
have  any  definite  sense  of  rebellion,  yet  if  he  obeys  simply 
because  he  fears  to  disobey,  while  he  cannot  feel  that  the 
command  is  just,  he  experiences,  only  in  a  less  degree,  all 
those  evil  results  that  come  from  harboring  the  sentiments 
of  hatred  and  revenge.  This  obedience  is  outward  and  not 
inward. 

85 


Home  Training. 

§UT  how  shall  the  stubborn  boy  be  trained  who  seems 
incapable  of  responding  to  any  other  appeal  than 
that  of  the  rod  ?  Let  us  suppose  a  case,  the  most  difficult 
that  we  can  conceive,  and  see  if  there  are  any  points  where 
our  doctrine  would  fail  in  practice.  Suppose  a  mother 
requests  her  boy  to  go  to  a  neighbor's  house  on  an  errand. 
The  boy  wishes  to  play  ball  and  stubbornly  refuses  to  go. 
What  shall  that  mother  do  ?  "  Give  him  a  good  sound 
thrashing,"  the  Puritan  mother  would  say.  But  even  if 
she  can  do  it  now,  she  will  certainly  lack  the  physical 
power  in  a  short  time,  and  then  what  shall  she  do?  "  Turn 
him  over  to  his  father,"  some  one  may  say.  A  year  or  two 
more  will  place  him  beyond  the  authority  of  his  father, 
then  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Here  the  resources  of  the  "  rod  " 
school  become  exhausted.  He  has  defied  the  authority  of 
force,  and  has  triumphed. 

The  rod  system,  like  some  systems  of  medicine,  works 
well  in  those  cases  which  need  no  doctoring.  As  a  rule  the 
rod  arouses  the  very  passion  which  led  to  the  commission 
of  the  offense,  the  very  one  we  wish  to  allay.  The  secret 
of  governing  a  child  is  to  soothe  those  faculties  whose 
unrestrained  action  gave  rise  to  the  offense,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  call  into  action  the  restraining  faculties,  those 
which  would  have  prevented  the  commission  of  the  offense 
had  they  acted  at  the  time.  One  of  the  principal  restrain- 
ing faculties  is  conscience,  or  the  sense  of  obligation.  Now 
all  are  supposed  to  possess  this  faculty  in  some  degree. 

86 


Home  Training. 

Those  who  do  not,  are  morally  deformed  ;  they  are  mon- 
strosities, and  their  treatment  involves  something  more 
than  the  subject  of  "  home  training." 

We  are  not  giving  directions  for  the  management  of  the 
insane,  nor  the  morally  idiotic,  but  for  the  management, 
training,  and  development  of  those  who  are  fit  to  be 
intrusted  with  their  own  freedom,  those  who  are  free 
agents  and  who  are  capable  of  becoming  men  and  women. 

NOW  let  us  see  how  this  doctrine  will  work  with  the 
stubborn  boy  we  have  just  supposed.  He,  of  course, 
is  under  the  influence  of  anger,  the  very  passion  which  the 
mother  would  excite  still  more  if  she  were  to  attempt  to 
punish  him.  Hence  she  must  cool  this  passion  by  arousing 
the  sense  of  obligation.  Let  her  appeal  to  his  honor.  He  has 
honor,  but  it  is  suppressed  for  the  time  by  anger.  He  loves 
his  mother  unless  he  is  a  fit  subject  for  the  penitentiary,  and 
in  that  case  he  does  not  come  within  the  jurisdiction  of 
any  system  of  home  training.  A  system  must  be  devised 
expressly  for  him.  Perhaps  it  may  be  advisable  for  her  tp 
do  the  thing  herself  which  she  has  commanded  the  boy  to 
do,  or  perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  call  his  sister  and  send  her 
on  the  errand,  with  the  understanding  that  it  is  not  just  for 
her  to  be  compelled  to  do  it.  When  he  remembers  that  his 
little  sister  has  performed  a  duty  that  was  not  hers  but 
his,  he  will  feel  a  little  uncomfortable  in  the  region  of  con- 
science. He  should  be  reminded,  perhaps,  during  the 

87 


Home  Training. 

evening,  that  he  is  under  moral  obligation  to  another  who 
has  performed  a  duty  that  he  refused  to  perform.  It 
should  be  talked  of  for  a  long  time,  and  his  conscience 
should  not  be  allowed  to  rest  till  he  has  paid  the  moral 
debt.  No  precise  rule  can  be  given  as  to  the  way  in  which 
his  conscience  should  be  appealed  to  in  every  instance. 
Circumstances  may  vary  so  that  any  attempt  at  this  would 
be  impracticable.  The  mother  should  be  so  well  acquainted 
with  the  nature  of  the  child  as  to  be  able  to  appeal  to 
any  sentiment  at  will,  under  any  and  every  varying 
circumstance. 

Some  may  object  to  this  because  it  defers  obedience  too 
long.  But  a  disobedient,  ungrateful,  and  stubborn  boy 
should  be  regarded  by  parents  as  a  misfortune,  and  they 
should  be  happy  if  they  succeed  in  securing  obedience  at 
all,  even  if  it  requires  days  to  secure  obedience  to  a  single 
command.  But  if  this  method  is  practiced  with  the  child 
from  his  infancy,  he  will  not  become  a  disobedient  and 
stubborn  boy.  We  have  supposed  an  extreme  case  in  order 
to  anticipate  and  fortify  ourselves  against  the  argument 
arising  from  such  cases. 

But  we  are  well  aware  that  many  a  good  old  mother 
who  has  wielded  the  rod  for  thirty  years  will,  in  her  just 
egotism,  point  to  her  noble  sons  and  daughters  as  a  trium- 
phant refutation  of  these  views  which  she  will  be  pleased 
to  call  trash.  Nor  would  we  disregard  the  well-earned 
practical  knowledge  of  these  grand  women.  Their  egotism 

88 


Home  Training. 

is  pardonable.  Yet  we  shall  modestly  claim  that  they  are 
liable  to  be  mistaken  in  some  of  their  views  of  life,  and 
when  they  oppose  our  doctrine  and  style  in  theory,  we 
shall  reply  that  the  doctrine  of  moral  accountability  is  a 
theory,  but  it  is  one  that  appeals  so  strongly  to  the  common 
sense  and  intuition  of  mankind  as  to  be  independent  of 
the  argument  of  actual  experience. 


1 4 |E  would  not  contend  that  injudicious  training  is  sure 
"to  spoil  a  child,  neither  will  the  wisest  training 
always  serve  to  develop  a  noble  character.  The  chil- 
dren of  noble  mothers  will  sometimes  be  noble  in  spite  of 
wrong  training.  Men  have  developed  powerful  lungs  who 
through  their  whole  lives  have  breathed  hardly  a  breath 
of  pure  air.  Men  have  had  strong  digestion  who  have 
abused  their  stomachs,  and  intemperate  men  have  died  of 
old  age.  But  these  are  the  exceptions  and  not  the  rule. 
For  one  who  desires  to  live  a  long  life  it  would  not  be  safe 
to  be  intemperate  simply  because  a  few  have  lived  to  be 
old  in  spite  of  intemperance. 

Neither  is  it  safe  to  follow  a  wrong  system  of  train- 
ing because  some  mothers  of  the  rod  persuasion  have 
reared  a  family  of  noble  children.  Such  mothers  trans- 
mit to  their  children  healthy  bodies  and  sound  minds  and 
good  morals,  and  they  would  have  developed  into  noble 
men  and  women  under  almost  any  system  of  training. 

89 


Home  Training. 

Besides,  the  occasions  for  punishing  such  children  occur  at 
intervals  so  rare  that  little  injury  can  result. 


IN  the  training  of  the  child,  physical  culture  should 
precede  all  other  kinds  ;  next  should  follow  the  train- 
ing of  the  affections.  He  should  be  taught  to  love  only 
the  good  and  to  hate  all  that  is  bad.  After  this  the  intel- 
lect should  be  trained.  Not  however  by  sending  him  to 
school  to  sit  all  day  on  a  hard  seat  where  his  feet  can- 
not touch  the  floor,  and  where  he  learns  to  say  "A." 
Little  children  are  usually  sent  to  school  when  they  should 
be  romping  through  the  woods  and  pastures. 

Of  course  we  do  not  condemn  the  common  school 
system,  yet  there  are  many  features  of  it  which  tend 
greatly  to  neutralize  the  good.  It  were  infinitely  better 
for  the  race  to  live  in  barbaric  ignorance  with  sound  and 
healthy  bodies,  than  in  the  grandest  civilization  with  bod- 
ily weakness  and  physical  impotency  ;  for  a  barbaric  race 
may  become  civilized,  but  a  race  of  physical  weaklings  is 
doomed  to  extinction.  And  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  com- 
mon schools,  especially  in  the  city,  are  rapidly  sapping  the 
physical  stamina  of  the  civilized  world,  and  this  is 
especially  true  in  hot-headed  America. 

Children  should  be  educated  at  home  by  the  parents ; 
at  least  till  they  are  well  developed  physically.  It  is  safe 
to  send  a  boy  to  school  when  he  has  become  so  strong 

90 


Home  Training. 

physically  that  no  teacher  can  suppress  his  buoyancy  and 
too  early  make  a  man  of  him. 

Studiousness  on  the  part  of  young  boys  and  girls 
should  be  regarded  by  parents  as  a  more  dangerous  symp- 
tom than  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs.  Indeed,  these  are 
often  symptoms  of  the  same  disease. 

I  HERE  are  many  and  strong  arguments  for  educating 

V  children  at  home.  In  the  first  place,  the  mother  is 
the  natural  teacher  of  the  child.  The  eagle  does  not  send 
her  little  ones  to  school  to  learn  to  fly,  nor  does  she  employ 
a  governess,  but  chooses  to  perform  the  duty  herself. 
The  spiritual  sympathy  between  mother  and  child  enables 
the  mother  to  minister  to  the  individual  wants  of  the  child 
as  no  other  teacher  can.  There  are  locked  chambers  in 
every  human  soul,  but  in  the  child's  there  are  none  to 
which  the  mother  does  not  hold  the  key. 

The  public  school  tends  to  destroy  the  individuality  of 
the  pupil,  to  crush  out  all  his  originality  and  force  his 
mind,  whatever  may  be  its  natural  tendency,  into  the  com- 
mon channel.  Civilization  tends  directly  toward  physical 
and  mental  diversity,  and  individual  peculiarities,  but  the 
public  school  does  not  recognize  this  fact. 

Low  down  in  the  scale  of  life  we  notice  but  little  diver- 
sity. A  flock  of  birds  seem  all  alike.  We  cannot  detect 
any  difference  between  two  foxes  of  the  same  age  and  sex, 
but  dogs  and  horses  differ,  because  for  ages  they  have 

91 


Home  Training. 

been  under  the  modifying  influences  of  man  until  their 
condition  corresponds  to  that  of  the  civilization  of  man. 
In  the  early  ages  men  differed  from  one  another  far  less 
than  they  do  at  present.  Civilization  and  a  tendency  to 
diversity  are  so  closely  dependent  on  common  causes  that 
whatever  hinders  the  one  hinders  also  the  other.  Of 
course  we  would  not  contend  that  the  common  schools 
retard  civilization,  although  in  this  respect  they  certainly 
have  a  tendency  to  retard  it. 

In  the  public  schools  all  are  compelled  to  take  the 
same  course,  regardless  of  their  individual  peculiarities 
of  talent.  If  a  pupil  is  by  nature  poorly  endowed  with 
the  mathematical  talent,  he  must  go  through  just  as  fast 
but  no  slower  than  the  others.  The  explanations  that 
suffice  for  those  who  are  mathematically  inclined  must 
suffice  for  him  also.  No  provision  is  made  for  taste  or 
talent. 

But  this  is  not  the  case  when  the  children  are  edu- 
cated at  home.  Every  peculiarity  of  talent  may  be  pro- 
vided for.  Then  there  is  a  great  source  of  pleasure  in 
the  education  of  one's  own  children.  It  tends  to  perpetu- 
ate the  authority  which  parents  ought  to  have  over  their 
children.  If  the  child  has  been  educated  by  his  parent  he 
will  never  cease  to  have  the  highest  respect  for  that  parent. 
This  is  a  strong  reason  why  parents  should  educate  them- 
selves and  keep  pace  with  their  children  in  all  their 
studies;  for  although  dutiful  children  will  always  respect 

93 


Home  Training. 

their  parents  however  ignorant  they  may  be,  yet  intelli- 
gent parents,  those  capable  of  instructing  their  children, 
will  be  respected  still  more.  Then,  if  for  no  other  reason, 
the  children  should  be  educated  at  home,  to  maintain  the 
authority  of  the  parent  and  the  respect  of  the  child. 

tthe  mothers  of  our  country,  as  far  as  possible,  pat- 
tern after  that  mother  who  not  only  trained  the 
bodies  of  her  boys  and  made  them  physical  heroes,  but 
trained  their  affections  and  made  them  moral  heroes.  Nor, 
indeed,  did  her  care  cease  here  !  She  trained  them  intel- 
lectually, fitted  them  for  college,  and  sent  them  forth  to 
meet  on  life's  arena  those  intellectual  heroes  who  have 
been  trained  at  the  hands  of  honored  masters. 

Men  shall  feel  in  this  a  beauty  and  a  pathos  to  the 
end  of  time,  whenever  the  historian  shall  turn  for  a 
moment  from  the  crimson  pictures  of  national  strife  to 
narrate  the  simple  story.  Can  those  boys  ever  cease  to 
respect  that  mother  ?  Can  they  ever  cease  to  reverence 
her  very  name  ? 

Perhaps  it  is  not  generally  known  that  we  worship  God 
with  the  same  faculty  with  which  we  honor  our  parents. 
Now  the  children  of  such  mothers  as  we  have  considered 
must  feel  perpetually  a  sense  of  honor  and  parental  rever- 
ence. This  strengthens  and  develops  the  faculty  with 
which  God  is  worshiped.  Hence  we  see  why  the  children 

of  such  parents  are  usually  religious.     The  unwritten  life 

93 


Home  Training. 

of    one   such  woman  is  a  stronger  argument  than  all  the 
silver  irony  of  prostituted  genius. 

There  are,  of  course,  but  few  mothers  or  fathers  who 
can  fit  their  boys  or  girls  for  college,  and  this  is  not  neces- 
sary in  order  to  apply  the  doctrine  we  have  advocated. 
There  are  but  few  boys  and  girls  who  go  to  college.  Nor 
is  it  necessary  to  keep  the  children  home  from  school.  The 
mother  can  superintend  the  education  of  a  child  even 
while  he  is  in  school.  The  teacher's  function  should  be 
something  more  than  merely  listening  to  the  recitation  of 
the  pupil.  But  this  is  nearly  all  that  the  average  teacher 
does.  Hence  the  mother  has  a  wide  field  even  while  her 
child  is  in  the  public  school. 

I  HERE  seems  to  be  a  growing  tendency  on  the  part 
^  of  mothers  to  intrust  the  training  of  their  children 
to  the  hands  of  nurses.  This  is  a  great  error.  In  the  first 
place,  it  breaks  the  current  of  divine  magnetism  between 
mother  and  child,  which  ought  to  make  the  mental  pulses 
of  both  beat  in  unison.  Again,  it  has  a  tendency  to  dimin- 
ish filial  reverence  in  the  child.  By  separating  him  from 
his  mother  at  that  tender  age  in  which  the  links  of  the 
eternal  chain  should  be  forged,  we  render  it  almost  impos- 
sible for  him  to  love  her  as  he  ought.  This  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  for  the  modern  fashionable  mother  sees  her 
child  only  as  a  visitor  would  see  it.  The  child  must  be 
dressed  up  as  if  to  entertain  strangers,  and  when  he  begins 

94 


Home  Training. 

to  cry  he  is  carried  away  at  once  by  the  nurse,  while  the 
mother  makes  another  appointment. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  striking  manifestations  of 
God's  mercy  to  the  race  is  seen  in  the  fact  that  compara- 
tively few  offspring  are  born  of  such  women  —  if  the 
license  of  literature  will  permit  us  to  use  the  word  woman 
in  this  connection.  Better  a  thousand  times  that  the  world 
should  be  populated  from  the  slums  than  from  such 
sources. 

'  <  The  mother  in  her  office  holds  the  key 

Of  the  soul ;  and  she  it  is  who  stamps  the  coin 

Of  character,  and  makes  the  being  who  would  be  a  savage 

But  for  her  gentle  care,  a  Christian  man." 


95 


CHAPTER   SEVEN. 

Rewards   and    Punishments. 


HE  rewards  and  punishments  of  home  should  be 
analogous  to,    if  not  identical  with,  those  which 


— *—  God  has  already  instituted  as  natural  rewards 
and  punishments.  There  should  be  little  or  nothing  artifi- 
cial in  the  rewards  or  punishments  of  home. 

If  a  child  is  bribed  to  do  his  duty  by  some  promise  of 
reward,  he  is  likely  to  acquire  the  fatal  habit  of  performing 
virtuous  acts  from  low  motives.  The  approval  of  con- 
science is  the  natural  reward  for  the  performance  of  one's 
duty.  If  an  artificial  reward  is  substituted  for  this,  the 
motive  is  transferred  from  conscience  to  some  selfish 
faculty,  and  the  whole  moral  character  becomes  lowered. 
Hence  no  reward  should  ever  be  given  for  the  mere  per- 
formance of  duty  when  it  is  clear  to  the  child  that  it  is  his 
duty. 

In  some  cases  where  the  desired  act  seems  to  be  an  act 
of  self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the  child,  and  one  which  he 
does  not  understand  to  be  particularly  his  duty,  it  is  per- 
fectly right  and  often  wise  to  offer  rewards.  But  if  he  is 
hired  to  do  those  things  which  his  own  conscience  plainly 

96 


Rewards  and  Punishments. 

tells  him  he  ought  to  do,  he  will  learn  to  act  in  such  cases 
from  the  motive  of  the  reward,  and  not  from  that  of  con- 
science. But  during  this  time  conscience  must  lie  idle  for 
want  of  something  to  do,  and  God  never  lets  a  talent  lie  in 
a  napkin  without  depreciating.  Although  conscience 
might  have  prompted  him  to  the  same  act,  yet  if  it  be  not 
the  determining  motive  he  cannot  experience  the  approval 
of  conscience.  Conscience  deals  with  motives,  not  with 
acts,  and,  like  every  other  function  of  our  being,  grows  by 
exercise.  The  food  of  conscience  is  its  own  approval,  and 
in  order  to  secure  its  approval  it  must  afford  the  ruling 
motive. 

Whenever  a  reward  is  offered,  an  appeal  should  not 
be  made  at  the  same  time  to  the  sense  of  duty.  It  should 
pass  simply  as  a  trade,  and  the  child  should  not  be 
reminded  that  there  is  any  right  or  wrong  about  it.  These 
are  the  only  circumstances  under  which  it  is  proper  to 
offer  a  reward  to  a  child. 

We  would  not  have  it  understood,  however,  that 
rewards  should  be  given  only  for  those  acts  which  con- 
science cannot  approve.  Such  acts,  of  course,  should 
never  be  required  nor  performed  at  all.  Rewards  should 
be  offered  only  for  good  deeds,  those  which  the  conscience 
of  the  child,  if  it  were  to  act  at  all,  would  approve.  What 
we  mean  is  simply  that  a  base  reward  should  never  be 
made  to  supplement  conscience  in  such  a  way  as  to 
become  the  ruling  motive.  If  it  be  found  that  conscience  is 

97 


Rewards  and  Punishments. 

acting  at  all,  do  not  offer  a  reward  to  complete  the  motive 
and  make  it  strong  enough  to  rule  his  act,  but  try  to  stim- 
ulate conscience  to  a  still  higher  degree  of  action,  until  its 
motive  becomes  sufficient  of  itself  to  produce  the  desired 
result. 

As  a  rule  the  reward  when  given  should  appeal  to  the 
mental  rather  than  the  physical.  It  should  be  something 
which  has  a  tendency  to  stimulate  the  thinking  or  invent- 
ive powers  rather  than  something  which  merely  satisfies 
a  physical  want.  It  is  generally  better  to  give  a  book  than 
a  drum,  although  there  are  far  meaner  rewards  than  a 
drum.  Candy  and  sweetmeats  should  never  under  any 
circumstances  be  offered.  That  which  is  unfit  for  an 
adult  is  surely  unfit  to  constitute  a  reward  for  a  child.  It 
is  a  fact  that  the  world  makes  its  greatest  efforts  in 
response  to  the  demands  of  sensual  gratification.  Is  it 
unreasonable  to  suppose  that  the  foundation  of  this  evil  is 
laid  in  childhood  through  the  pernicious  practice  of  reward- 
ing children  with  sweetmeats  ? 

A  toy  steam  engine  or  some  machine  which  will  stimu- 
late the  constructive  or  inventive  faculty  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  appropriate  present  which  can  be  given  to  a  boy. 

There  are  circumstances,  however,  under  which  it 
would  be  improper  to  award  such  gifts.  In  case  the  child 
is  already  too  much  inclined  to  mental  activity,  no  present 
should  be  given  which  will  farther  stimulate  the  intellect. 
At  the  present  time  there  are  many  cases  of  this  kind, 

98 


Rewards  and  Punishments. 

especially  in  the  cities.  For  such  precocious  children  a 
cart  or  sled  or  a  pair  of  skates  would  be  a  far  more  appro- 
priate gift  than  a  book  or  even  a  steam  engine. 

the  worst  and  most  injurious  practice  connected 
with  the  subject  of  rewards  and  punishments  is 
that  of  bribing  children  with  promises  that  are  never  meant 
to  be  fulfilled.  It  happens  in  many  cases  that  this  is  the 
child's  first  lesson  in  falsehood.  All  promises  made  to 
children  should  be  conscientiously  fulfilled,  for  the  whole 
life  and  character  of  the  child  may  be  changed  by  a  single 
repudiated  promise.  Let  no  parent  assume  the  fearful 
responsibility  of  giving  his  child  the  first  lesson  in 
dishonesty. 

The  punishments  of  home  should  be,  as  far  as  possible, 
natural.  They  should  consist  chiefly,  if  not  wholly,  in 
pointing  out  and  making  a  direct  application  of  the  same 
kind  of  punishment  which  Nature  herself  inflicts  for  the 
same  offense. 

For  instance,  the  natural  punishment  which  Nature  has 
appended  to  the  sin  of  falsehood  is  the  suspicion  and  dis- 
trust of  our  fellow  men.  Hence  when  a  child  tells  a  false- 
hood, he  should  be  made  to  feel  that  he  has  done  that  for 
which  he  deserves  the  suspicion  of  the  whole  family.  All 
eyes  should  be  turned  upon  him  with  a  pitying  distrust. 

Nature's  punishment  for  selfishness  is  a  withdrawal  of 
the  sympathy  and  love  of  society,  and  in  addition  thereto 

99 


Rewards  and  Punishments. 

the  defeat  of  its  own  ends.  Selfishness  is  always  defeated  in 
the  end.  Hence  when  a  child  has  encroached  upon  the 
rights  of  his  brothers  or  sisters  through  selfishness,  the 
sympathy  of  the  family  should  be  withdrawn,  while  at 
the  same  time  he  should  be  prevented  from  reaping  the 
benefit  which  he  anticipated  from  his  selfish  act.  The 
other  children  should  be  made  to  feel  that  he  is  actually 
unworthy  of  their  society.  In  certain  cases,  perhaps,  he 
should  be  banished  from  the  society  of  the  family  and  even 
shut  up  in  his  room,  as  a  severer  punishment  and  as  a  more 
direct  and  literal  application  of  that  principle  which  is 
involved  in  the  banishment  to  which  society  always  dooms 
the  selfish  man.  God  has  made  society  on  such  a  plan  that 
it  cannot  tolerate  selfishness.  He  has  also  arranged  our 
nature  so  that  the  very  best  thing  for  the  selfish  man  is  to 
have  society  shun  him.  It  is  the  only  medicine  that  will 
cure  him  if  he  is  curable. 

Now,  is  it  not  safe  to  follow  God's  method  in  punishing 
the  child  for  selfishness  at  home  ?  Who  will  come  so  near 
to  challenging  the  wisdom  of  God  as  to  style  this  "idle 
theory  "  ?  If  the  child  be  defeated  in  his  selfish  purpose  by 
the  parent,  and  he  is  banished  for  an  hour  or  a  day,  as  the 
case  may  be,  from  the  sympathy  of  the  family,  he  will  come 
to  feel  by  no  process  of  logic,  perhaps,  but  by  the  force 
of  habit  and  association,  that  such  conduct  on  the  part  of 
others  is  the  necessary  and  inevitable  accompaniment  of 
his  selfishness  ;  that  it  is  founded  in  the  justness  and  true 

100 


Rewards  and  Punishments. 

order  of  social  relations.  When  he  becomes  a  man  he  will 
receive  the  same  kind  of  punishment  from  society  if  he  still 
persists  in  his  selfishness.  He  will  then  perceive  that  the 
punishment  is  rational  and  inevitable,  and  that  the  relation 
between  it  and  the  offense  is  constant  and  necessary. 

If  any  other  method  is  pursued  the  child  will  in  the 
course  of  his  life  be  subjected  to  two  kinds  of  punishment 
for  the  same  offense,  one  an  arbitrary  and  the  other  a 
natural  one.  The  human  mind  is  unable  to  perceive  any 
necessary  relation  between  the  crime  of  selfishness  and  the 
pain  inflicted  by  an  angry  parent  with  a  birch  stick. 
There  is  no  logical  relation  between  them,  and  as  a  natural 
consequence  the  child  rebels,  at  least  spiritually,  and  hence 
is  made  more  selfish  than  before.  He  will  be  more  and 
more  selfish  as  he  grows  older,  and  when  he  comes  to 
receive  the  natural  punishment  from  society  for  his  sin,  he 
will  rebel  against  that  from  the  mere  force  of  habit.  He 
will  come  to  hate  society.  He  will  be  cold  and  cynical. 
He  will  come  to  entertain  a  morbid  sentiment  of  ill-will 
toward  society,  and,  spurred  on  by  the  feeling  that  the 
world  owes  him  a  debt,  he  may  be  led  to  commit  some  dark 
and  dreadful  crime  against  his  fellow  men.  It  is  not  impos- 
sible that  a  large  percentage  of  the  pirates,  robbers,  and 
murderers  are  such  because  of  the  unwise  and  illogical 
relation  between  the  offenses  and  punishments  of  their 
childhood. 


101 


Rewards  and  Punishments. 

||  NE  has  truthfully  said,  "Caprice  or  violence  in  cor- 
recting  will  go  far  to  justify  the  transgressor  in  his 
own  eyes  at  least ;  he  will  consider  every  appearance  of 
injustice  as  a  vindication  of  his  own  aggression."  Who 
has  not  seen  a  confirmation  of  this  among  schoolboys  ? 
Often  a  boy  is  whipped  by  a  teacher  when  if  properly  man- 
aged he  would  willingly  express  his  sorrow  for  the  offense. 
But  after  the  whipping  he  goes  sullenly  to  his  seat  mutter- 
ing to  himself,  "  I'm  glad  I  did  it."  He  is  glad  that  he  did 
it  because  he  feels  that  his  teacher  has  wronged  him,  and 
that  in  a  certain  sense  the  offense  which  he  himself  has 
committed  makes  them  even.  Human  beings,  and  espe- 
cially children,  when  under  the  influence  of  anger,  are  not 
very  reasonable,  and  are  usually  not  inclined  to  take  an 
impartial  view  of  things  when  the  matter  of  their  punish- 
ment is  involved. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  he  ought  to  look  at  it  differ- 
ently ;  that  he  has  no  right  to  look  at  it  so  partially  ;  that 
the  case  is  plain  if  he  will  look  at  it  rightly.  Very  well, 
but  if  he  doesn't  look  at  it  rightly,  the  facts  of  the  case 
are  of  no  benefit  to  him,  and  he  receives  all  the  injurious 
results  to  his  moral  nature  that  he  would  receive  if  the 
facts  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  case. 

The  vast  majority  of  human  acts  are  either  right  or 
wrong  ;  if  right  they  are  self-rewarding,  and  if  wrong 
they  are  self-punishing.  It  is  the  function  of  human 

102 


Rewards  and  Punishments. 

authority  to  teach  the  transgressor  wherein  his  transgres- 
sions punish  themselves. 

"  A  picture  memory  brings  to  me  : 
I  look  across  the  years  and  see 
Myself  beside  my  mother's  knee. 

"  I  feel  her  gentle  hand  restrain 
My  selfish  moods,  and  know  again 
A  child's  blind  sense  of  wrong  and  pain. 

"  But  wiser  now,  a  man  gray  grown, 
My  childhood's  needs  are  better  known, 
My  mother's  chastening  love  I  own. 

"  Gray  grown,  but  in  our  Father's  sight 
A  child  still  groping  for  the  light 
To  read  his  works  and  ways  aright. 

"  I  bow  myself  beneath  his  hand  ; 

That  pain  itself  for  good  was  planned, 
I  trust,  but  cannot  understand. 

"  I  fondly  dream  it  needs  must  be, 
That  as  my  mother  dealt  with  me, 
So  with  his  children  dealeth  he. 

"  I  wait,  and  trust  the  end  will  prove 
That  here  and  there,  below,  above, 
The  chastening  heals,  the  pain  is  love  1  " 


103 


CHAPTER   EIGHT. 

Amusements  for  th.e    Home. 


(5  I   HE  1 


HE  human  mind  demands  amusement.     One  of   its 
constituent  elements  is  a  love  of  fun.     No  innate 


-1—  demand  of  the  mind  can  be  denied  without  injury. 
Amusement  and  fun  are  as  essential  to  the  growth  and 
development  of  the  young  mind  as  sleep,  or  any  form  of 
exercise.  Hence  we  have  no  sympathy  with  that  system 
of  home  government  which  suppresses  this  element  in  the 
children.  Such  systems  are  suicidal,  and  one  can  hardly 
help  doubting  the  genuineness  of  that  religion  that  imposes 
perpetual  melancholy  as  one  of  its  tenets. 

It  has  been  said  that  Christ  never  was  known  to  laugh 
but  often  to  weep,  and  if  he  foresaw  the  existence  of  that 
creed  that  suppresses  laughter  as  one  of  the  cardinal  vices, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  he  never  laughed.  But  there  is  no 
evidence  that  he  did  not  laugh.  The  character  of  his  mis- 
sion was  such  as  to  render  any  record  of  his  lighter 
moments  entirely  out  of  place.  It  is,  however,  a  well 
known  fact  that  Christ  was  of  a  thoughtful,  serious  cast  of 
mind,  and  even  if  it  could  be  proved  that  he  never  laughed, 
the  fact  would  have  no  weight  as  an  argument  against 

104 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

laughter  among  us.  We  are  not  expected  nor  required  to 
follow  his  example  in  all  things,  for  this  would  be  impos- 
sible. Marriage  is  a  divine  institution  and  imposes  obliga- 
tions upon  us  from  which  Christ,  by  virtue  of  his  nature 
and  work,  was  exempted. 

Were  it  not  for  the  superstitious  folly  of  so  many  peo- 
ple, what  we  have  said  on  this  phase  of  the  subject  would 
be  entirely  superfluous.  Probably  but  few  Christian  peo- 
ple at  the  present  day  would  openly  acknbwledge  that 
they  have  conscientious  scruples  against  laughter,  yet 
there  are  thousands  of  stern  fathers  who  virtually  sup- 
press all  laughter  in  their  homes  as  a  religious  duty. 
They  would  not  acknowledge  to  themselves  even  that  they 
believe  laughter  to  be  wrong  in  the  abstract,  and  yet  some- 
how or  other  they  manage  to  resolve  every  occasion  for 
laughter  into  something  that  ought  to  be  suppressed. 

IT  is  the  duty  of  the  parents  to  make  home  pleasant  and 
^  agreeable,  and  even  to  furnish  occasions  for  merri- 
ment and  fun,  as  much  as  it  is  to  furnish  food  and  shelter. 
Children  should  not  be  required  to  remain  quiet  and  sedate 
during  the  long  evenings  simply  because  the  stern  father 
wishes  to  read  the  newspaper.  If  he  wishes  to  read  aloud 
something  that  would  be  interesting  to  the  children,  it  is 
proper  to  do  so.  All  parents  should  consider  themselves 
under  obligations  to  furnish  at  least  one  paper  or  magazine 
expressly  for  the  children.  Not  one  of  the  ponderous  and 

105 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

somber  journals  of  Zion,  but  one  full  of  light  jokes,  inter- 
esting stories,  and  such  information  as  children  desire  and 
can  appreciate.  Of  course  the  father  and  mother  are  to  be 
allowed  time  to  read  their  religious  and  political  papers, 
and  their  scientific  books  ;  but  the  children's  right  in  this 
respect  must  not  be  encroached  upon.  It  will  not  hurt  the 
father  or  mother  to  read  aloud  from  the  Youth's  Companion, 
Harper's  Round  Table,  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  or  some 
other  paper  of  similar  character,  or,  perhaps,  what  is  bet- 
ter still,  they  can  lay  aside  their  own  paper  and  listen  and 
be  interested  while  one  of  the  older  children  is  reading. 
Reading  aloud  by  parents  and  children  is  one  of  the 
most  useful  sources  of  amusement  in  every  home.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  amusement,  valuable  information  would  be 
obtained,  as  well  as  healthful  vocal  exercise  and  elocu- 
tionary drill. 

/VNOTHER  source  of  amusement,  peculiarly  appro- 
V^,  priate  for  the  home,  and  one  of  which  we  never 
tire,  is  music.  The  money  spent  for  a  musical  instrument 
is  not  thrown  away.  Every  home  should  contain  some 
such  instrument,  and  there  are  but  few  families  that  cannot 
afford  a  piano  or  an  organ.  There  is  something  in  the 
nature  of  music  that  tends  to  evolve  harmony  in  the  hearts 
of  those  who  jointly  produce  it  or  listen  to  it.  There  is 
something  of  philosophy  in  the  oft  quoted  words  of 
Shakespeare  :  — 

10G 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

"  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils." 

It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  author  used  this  word 
music  in  the  broadest  sense  of  poesy,  yet  even  in  its 
restricted  sense  there  is  the  semblance  of  truth.  The 
world  presents  us  with  many  examples  of  grand  and  noble 
souls  that  are  deaf  to  the  pleadings  of  the  harp,  and  yet 
the  fact  remains  untouched  that  music  is  the  language  of 
the  highest  souls.  Eloquence  holds  a  wand  for  the  soul's 
lofty  moods,  and  yet  there  is  an  altitude  in  whose  rarefied 
atmosphere  the  soul  is  dumb,  and  in  the  frenzy  of  despair 
seizes  the  harp  and  the  viol.  From  these  spiritual  beati- 
tudes on  whose  hushed  summits  the  veil  is  rolled  back, 
there  comes  no  message  save  in  wordless  strains. 

We  cannot  stand  beside  a  friend  in  the  presence  of 
music  without  feeling  the  ties  grow  stronger.  The  spirit's 
invisible  arms  clasp  each  other.  Neither  can  we  stand 
beside  an  enemy  without  feeling  the  timbers  of  hatred  that 
have  braced  our  souls  apart,  give  way,  and  before  we  are 
aware  our  spirit  proclaims  him  friend. 

How  peculiarly  appropriate,  then,  as  a  home  amuse- 
ment, is  music  !  As  well  might  you  drive  love  from  home 
as  to  exclude  music.  Let  the  boys  learn  to  play  the  violin  ; 
and  let  the  girls  play  the  organ  or  piano.  Let  the  home' 
be  a  perpetual  temple  of  song. 


107 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

fy  SILENT  home,  where  there  is  no  music  nor  reading, 
V-  and  but  little  conversation,  is  a  dull  and  sad  place 
for  the  young.  Children  do  not  like  to  stay  long  in  those 
places  where  their  only  entertainment  is  their  own 
thoughts.  There  is  nothing  worse  for  a  child  than  continu- 
ous subjective  thinking,  that  sort  of  a  day  after  day  intro- 
spection. It  leads  to  habitual  melancholy,  and  this  state  is 
so  thoroughly  unnatural  for  a  child  that  it  cannot  exist 
without  enfeebling  both  mind  and  body.  Those  who  com- 
mit suicide  will  be  found  in  almost  every  instance  to  be 
those  who  were  led  to  subjective  thinking  during  the  long 
winter  evenings  of  their  childhood. 

A  boy  cannot  maintain  health  of  body  without  laugh- 
ter, merriment,  and  fun.  We  have  every  reason  to  believe 
that  a  lamb  would  not  maintain  its  bodily  health  and  grow 
to  be  a  mature  animal  if  it  were  prevented  from  frisking 
and  frolicking. 

iyl  OST  especially  does  the  feeling  of  merriment  assist 
V^  the  digestive  function.  This  idea  is  already  prev- 
alent among  the  people,  and  yet  there  is  too  little  abiding 
faith  in  the  medicinal  virtue  of  fun.  Our  meals  should  be 
scenes  of  uninterrupted  merriment.  It  is  a  fact  univer- 
sally acknowledged  that  the  American  people  eat  too  rap- 
idly for  the  good  of  their  health.  Now,  there  is  nothing 
that  checks  rapid  eating  like  repartee  and  merry  conversa- 
tion. 

108 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

One  of  the  evils  of  Puritanism,  which  we  have  not  yet 
outgrown,  was  the  idea  that  cheerful  conversation  is  unbe- 
coming at  meals.  The  children  were  taught  to  eat  in 
silence  at  the  second  table,  under  the  awful  superintend- 
ence of  their  parents,  who  had  eaten  up  all  the  good 
things.  The  eating  up  of  the  good  things,  however,  was 
not  half  so  cruel  as  it  was  to  compel  them  to  put  on  long 
faces,  and  be  men  and  women,  and  eat  in  silence.  The 
free  ventilation,  the  hard  work,  and  the  simple  fare  which 
they  enjoyed  prevented  them  from  having  dyspepsia.  But 
we  cannot  tell  how  thoroughly  their  stomachs  and  livers 
were  prepared  by  such  treatment  at  meal  time,  to  transmit 
that  dread  complaint  to  the  next  generation.  It  is  not  at 
all  an  extravagant  belief,  that  much  of  the  dyspepsia  of 
to-day  had  its  remote  origin  among  the  Puritans  in  their 
cruel  suppression  of  childish  mirth  at  the  family  board. 

There  are  families  in  which  the  Puritanic  idea  is  still 
prevalent,  that  "children  should  be  seen  but  not  heard." 
We  have  no  sympathy  with  that  doctrine.  Such  an  idea 
could  have  originated  only  in  parental  selfishness.  In  the 
days  of  our  grandfathers  the  children  were,  indeed,  pitiable 
creatures.  But  we  are  gradually  becoming  more  civilized 
on  this  point.  The  same  principle  in  human  nature  that 
has  given  rise  to  societies  for  the  "  prevention  of  cruelty  to 
animals  "  has  so  modified  our  sentiments  toward  children 
that  we  no  longer  regard  them  as  so  many  wild  beasts  put 
into  our  hands  to  be  tamed.  Children  are  now  allowed  to 

109 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

spend  most  of  their  time  in  the  pursuit  of  fun  and  to  laugh 
at  meals. 

LJ  ARENTS  should  mingle  with  their  children  in  their 
^_^  sports  and  games.  It  is  not  unbecoming  to  a 
mother  or  a  father  to  play  with  a  child,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, it  is  quite  becoming ;  and  in  so  doing  a  parent  is 
discharging  one  of  the  highest  duties  that  have  been  im- 
posed upon  him.  This  is  not  the  task  it  may  seem  to  be. 
There  is  something  in  the  relation  of  parent  and  child  that 
makes  the  parent  take  positive  delight  in  that  which  de- 
lights the  child.  Every  mother  knows  this  to  be  true. 
There  is  that  in  the  experience  of  every  one  which  testifies 
to  this.  We  all  feel  an  interest  in  those  things  which 
interest  the  ones  we  love.  This  principle  has  an  influence 
even  over  the  senses.  Articles  of  food  which  we  do  not 
ordinarily  like,  when  eaten  in  the  presence  of  a  loved  one 
who  does  like  them,  actually  become  savory  to  us.  "We 
are  made  by  this  principle  to  fall  into  the  same  line  of 
thought  and  feeling  with  those  we  love.  And  hence  the 
mother  experiences  almost  as  much  delight  from  playing 
with  a  cart  as  does  her  child. 

This  same  principle  doubtless  accounts  for  the  fact  that 
all  animals  play  with  their  young.  This  is  nature's  argu- 
ment. The  cat  and  dog,  however  old  and  dignified,  almost 
continually  play  with  their  young ;  so  does  the  lion,  and 
probably  all  wild  animals.  Animals  that  cannot  by  any 

110 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

other  possible  means  be  induced  to  manifest  the  slightest 
degree  of  playfulness,  are  full,  or  appear  to  be  full,  of  fun 
and  frolic  while  rearing  their  young.  Do  not  these  facts 
proclaim  a  natural  law  ?  Playing  with  children  is  a  sub- 
ject of  much  more  importance  than  most  people  are  led  to 
suspect. 

The  oldest  of  a  family  of  children  often  has  a  bad  dis- 
position, and  it  is  doubtless  due  to  the  absence  of  older 
playmates.  It  seems  to  be  a  law  of  the  child's  nature  that 
in  order  to  properly  develop  he  requires  an  older  playmate. 

The  younger  members  of  the  family  are  provided  for  in 
this  respect  by  the  older  ones,  and  accordingly  their  dispo- 
sitions are  better,  and  their  minds  are  usually  more  sym- 
metrically developed.  Now,  if  parents  would  heed  this 
law  and  become  the  intimate  associates  and  playmates  of 
their  children  while  they  are  young,  no  such  disparity  of 
disposition  and  character  would  be  found. 

The  chief  reason  why  so  many  children  become  dissat- 
isfied with  their  home  and  desire  to  leave  it  at  the  earliest 
possible  opportunity,  is  because  they  have  not  had  happy 
homes  ;  and  unhappy  homes  are  seldom  looked  back  to 
with  tender  thoughts  in  after  years.  But  let  them  keep 
the  old  time  feeling  in  their  hearts  that  "  there's  no  place 
like  home,"  and  when  the  hour  of  reunion  draws  nigh  with 
its  glad  tidings  and  joyful  welcome  they  will  not  send  the 
cruel  telegram  of  two  words,  "  business  pressing,"  but  will 
come  with  open  hearts  and  smiling  faces,  bringing  back 

111 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

again  the  same    feeling    that    they    carried    away,   that 
"there's  no  place  like  home." 

children  are  not  the  only  beings  that  require 
amusements.  All  require  it,  even  the  aged.  Abso- 
lute rest  is  not  the  thing  required  by  the  father  when  he 
comes  home  from  the  shop,  the  office,  or  the  store.  Human 
beings  need  but  very  little  of  that  kind  of  rest  beyond  what 
they  get  during  the  hours  of  sleep.  If  there  could  be  found 
a  vocation  in  which  all  the  faculties  should  be  exercised 
alike,  those  engaged  in  such  a  vocation  would  require  no 
amusement  beyond  what  would  necessarily  result  from 
exercising  the  faculty  of  mirth  equally  with  the  other  fac- 
ulties. But  the  relations  of  human  life  afford  no  such 
vocation,  hence  the  wisdom  of  making  special  provision 
for  amusements. 

Suppose  we  have  a  complicated  machine,  only  a  part  of 
which  is  in  action,  half  of  the  wheels  remaining  motionless. 
Now  suppose  we  discover  that  the  machine  is  wearing  out 
in  that  part  which  is  constantly  exercised.  What  shall  we 
do  to  maintain  the  symmetry  of  the  machine  and  prevent 
it  from  becoming  in  a  short  time  useless  ?  Will  it  be  suffi- 
cient to  simply  stop  the  machine  a  few  hours  or  days  and 
then  start  il  again  ?  Surely  not,  for  half  of  it  is  now 
actually  rusting  out  from  the  lack  of  being  used.  One  half 
needs  rest  and  the  other  part  needs  action  in  order  to  check 
the  process  of  destruction.  Hence  the  only  way  to  accom- 

112 


Amusements  for  the  Home. 

plish  the  desired  result  is  to  stop  the  part  that  has  been 
continually  running  and  start  the  other  part. 

This  illustration  explains  the  whole  philosophy  of 
amusements  and  recreations.  Man  does  not  need  to  rest, 
but  simply  to  start  up  the  other  half  of  his  vital  and  mental 
machinery,  and  home  furnishes  the  only  adequate  motive 
power. 

' '  Frown  not,  when  roistering  boys  or  toss  or  strike 
The  bounding  ball,  or  leap  or  run  or  ride 
The  mastered  steed  that,  as  the  rider,  loves 
The  rushing  course,  or  when  with  ringing  steel 
The  polished  ice  they  sweep  in  winter's  reign  ; 
All  pleasing  pastimes,  innocent  delights, 
That  gladden  hearts  yet  simple  and  sincere, 
Let  love  parental  gather  'round  the  home, 
And  consecrate  by  sharing  ;  let  it  watch 
With  kind,  approving  smiles  each  merry  game 
That  quickens  youthful  blood,  and  in  the  joy 
That  beams  from  crimson  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes 
Its  own  renew,  and  live  its  childhood  o'er." 


113 


CHAPTER  NINE. 

Home  Smiles, 


SMILE  is  the  most  useful  thing  in  the  world 
in  proportion  to  its  cost.  It  costs  absolutely 
nothing,  but  its  potency  is  often  beyond  esti- 
mation. It  conies  as  the  involuntary  and 
irrepressible  expression  of  a  sentiment  that  lies  at  the  basis 
of  human  society.  Smiles  constitute  a  part  of  our  lan- 
guage. There  seem  to  be  certain  combinations  of  words 
that  require  to  be  supplemented  with  a  smile  before  they 
can  have  any  meaning  to  us. 

The  human  soul,  shrouded  in  the  mysteries  of  person- 
ality, yearns  to  know  the  essence  of  other  souls,  as  it  were, 
to  touch  a  hand  in  the  dark,  and  smiles  are  the  electric 
flashes  that  illumine  the  wide  gulf  that  separates  indi- 
vidualities. 

There  is  a  mystery  in  what  we  call  acquaintance. 
Acquaintance,  however,  is  not  the  proper  word,  but  since 
human  language  affords  no  one  more  apt  we  shall  be 
obliged  to  use  it.  Why  should  we  say  that  we  are 
acquainted  with  this  one  and  not  with  that  one  ?  Acquaint- 
anceship does  not  consist  in  a  knowledge  of  some  one's 

114 


Home  Smiles. 

peculiarities  of  character  or  disposition,  for  we  sometimes 
feel  acquainted  with  persons  whose  minds  are  sealed  books 
to  us.  We  cannot  understand  them.  Their  thoughts  are 
mysterious  and  unfathomable,  and  they  always  seem  to 
take  a  turn  which  was  wholly  unexpected  to  us  and  which 
we  cannot  account  for,  and  yet  we  feel  a  large  measure  of 
acquaintanceship  with  them. 

There  are  others  whose  minds  are  as  transparent  as 
glass.  Their  mental  operations  are  performed,  as  it  were, 
in  the  sight  of  all.  We  can  almost  anticipate  their  very 
thoughts,  and  yet  we  would  not  think  of  speaking  to  them, 
because  as  we  say  we  are  not  acquainted  with  them. 

Acquaintance  is  not  a  conventionality  of  society,  for  it 
may  be  observed  in  those  rude  and  primitive  communities 
where  the  mere  conventionalities  of  society  have  little 
weight.  It  is  more  strongly  manifested  in  little  children 
even  before  they  can  talk  than  in  older  people.  This 
shows  that  whatever  acquaintance  may  be,  it  is  natural 
and  not  artificial.  In  what  then  does  it  consist  ?  What 
passes  between  two  souls  when  a  third  party  says,  "This  is 
Mr.  Jones,  Mr.  Smith "  ?  There  is  usually  some  form  of 
salutation,  as  the  bow  or  the  shaking  of  hands  ;  although 
there  is  nothing  of  a  permanent  or  essential  nature  in 
these,  for  the  mode  of  salutation  differs  in  different  nations 
and  communities.  The  Turks  fold  their  arms  across  the 
breast  while  bowing ;  the  Laplanders  touch  their  noses  ; 
and  in  Southern  Africa  they  rub  their  toes  together. 

115 


Home  Smiles. 

there  is  one  act  that  accompanies  all  these  differ- 
ent  modes,  one  rite  that  never  varies.  It  is  the 
smile.  The  philosophy  of  acquaintance  is  wrapt  up  in  the 
philosophy  of  the  smile.  When  two  smiles  have  met,  two 
souls  are  acquainted.  A  smile  is  the  sign  that  a  soul  gives 
when  it  would  examine  another  soul. 

Every  soul  in  the  universe  lives  alone.  There  is  a 
dark  curtain  dropped  before  the  window  of  its  house  which 
hides  it  from  the  view  of  all.  Every  one  has  felt  his  loneli- 
ness even  in  the  midst  of  crowds.  Souls  cannot  come  into 
contact,  but  they  can  draw  aside  the  curtain  from  the  win- 
dow. To  smile  is  to  draw  aside  the  curtain.  The  fondest 
souls  can  do  no  more.  Even  lovers  must  caress  through  a 
window. 

At  home,  these  curtains  should  often  be  drawn  aside, 
for  there  is  nothing  so  fatal  to  a  home  as  to  have  its  mem- 
bers become  unacquainted  with  each  other.  And  there  is 
nothing  so  difficult  as  to  renew  the  acquaintance  of  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  when  once  it  has  been  lost.  When  they 
begin  to  be  restrained  and  self-conscious  in  each  other's 
society  ;  when  they  begin  to  review  with  indifference  those 
phases  of  life  over  which  they  once  smiled  and  wept 
together,  —  they  are  unconsciously,  perhaps  unwillingly, 
cutting  each  other's  acquaintance.  There  is  no  sadder 
sight  on  earth  than  that  of  a  brother  and  sister  who  are 
unacquainted.  The  coldness  and  reserve  that  spring  up 

116 


Home  Smiles. 

between  the  members  of  so  many  families  originate  in  a 
lack  of  smiles  at  home. 

By  smiles  we  do  not  mean  that  which  takes  the  place 
of  loud  laughter  when  the  occasion  is  insufficient  to  pro- 
voke us  to  more  noisy  demonstrations.  Nor  do  we  mean 
either  the  transient  smile  with  which  one  regards  the  ludi- 
crous, or  the  habitual  smile  that  often  accompanies  a  low 
degree  of  thought-power.  There  is  a  smile  that  originates 
neither  in  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  nor  in  thoughtlessness. 
Like  certain  articles  of  dress  such  smiles  are  becoming  on 
all  occasions.  They  sit  with  equal  grace  upon  the  visage 
of  joy  and  of  sorrow.  They  seem  as  appropriate  when  they 
wreathe  the  mother's  thoughtful  face  as  when  they  live  in 
the  dimpled  cheek  of  laughing  girlhood,  or  with  their 
magic  play  transform  tear-stained  eyes  to  twinkling 
stars. 

These  are  the  smiles  with  which  we  would  adorn  every 
home.  We  would  set  them  as  vases  of  flowers  in  every 
human  abode. 

3  MILES  should  be  the  legal  tender  in  every  family 
for  the  payment  of  all  debts  of  kindness,  and  each 
member  should  be  willing  to  take  this  currency  at  its  face 
value  ;  for  its  value  is  beyond  the  reach  of  those  disturbing 
influences  that  shake  the  world  of  commerce.  And,  what 
is  better  than  all,  it  can  never  be  demonetized,  for  it  bears 
the  immutable  stamp  of  the  divine  government. 

117 


Home  Smiles. 

Let  the  members  of  the  family,  almost  as  often  as  they 
meet,  greet  each  other  with  a  smile,  for  eyes  that  meet  in 
full  gaze  without  a  smile  soon  grow  cold.  The  mother,  if 
she  would  keep  the  confidence  of  her  son,  must  be  lavish  of 
her  smiles.  Mothers  often  weep  in  the  presence  of  their 
sons  on  account  of  the  anxiety  that  they  feel  for  them. 
This  is  a  great  error,  for  in  the  first  place  it  leads  a  young 
man  to  conceal  that  which  he  believes  would  displease  his 
mother.  This  is  often  the  beginning  of  a  fatal  reserve. 
Besides,  it  causes  him  to  feel  that  his  mother  has  not  con- 
fidence in  him,  and  that  however  much  she  may  love  him 
she  fears  to  trust  his  honor. 

I  HE  smile  is  nature's  cure  for  the  disease  of  bashful- 
V  ness.  This  disease  is  simply  the  fear  which  one  soul 
experiences  in  approaching  another.  But  the  smile  is  an 
instinctive  effort  to  suppress  the  fear  and  to  know  the  soul. 
A  knowledge  of  this  principle  would  be  of  great  service 
to  those  having  the  charge  of  bashful  children.  Strangers 
should  always  encourage  a  smile  in  a  bashful  child.  Such 
children  should  be  met  with  smiles  rather  than  with  words. 
The  smile  is  the  only  form  of  salutation  that  a  bashful 
child  can  use.  He  cannot  speak  to  a  stranger  in  audible 
language,  but  if  the  stranger  will  consent  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  smiles  he  may  almost  always  gain  quick  admis- 
sion to  his  confidence.  When  the  bashful  child  smiles  and 
blushes,  and  hangs  his  head  in  the  presence  of  strangers, 

118 


Home  Smiles. 

there  is  great  hope  that  he  will  outgrow  the  infirmity,  for 
the  smile  is  an  instinctive  effort  to  overcome  it.  But 
where  the  child  is  not  inclined  to  smile  there  is  little  hope, 
and  the  malady  usually  degenerates  into  moroseness  and 
oddity. 

The  habitual  smiler  is  never  a  dyspeptic.  Smiles  pro- 
mote the  general  health  and  are  especially  fatal  to  any 
disease  of  the  stomach  or  liver. 

Smiles  also  promote  the  growth  of  the  religious  senti- 
ment, because  they  cannot  thrive  without  a  constant  sense 
of  obligation  to  others.  Especially  do  they  tend  to  culti- 
vate benevolence,  for  every  smile  is  a  gift,  and  benevolence 
grows  by  giving.  There  are  few  souls  that  can  "  smile, 
and  murder  while  they  smile."  None  indeed  can  murder 
while  they  smile  from  the  heart.  There  may  be  the  same 
movement  of  the  facial  muscles,  but  smiles  are  not  merely 
contractions  of  certain  muscles.  They  are  mental  acts. 

The  actor  may  give  the  outward  expression  of  a  smile, 
and  murder  while  he  smiles,  but  the  words  of  the  great 
dramatist  are  not  true  of  a  single  human  soul  except  the 
smile  be  spurious. 

< '  Sweet  is  the  smile  of  home ;    the  mutual  look 

Where  hearts  are  of  each  other  sure  ; 
Sweet  all  the  joys  that  crowd  the  household  nook, 
The  haunt  of  all  affections  pure." 


119 


CHAPTER  TEN. 


Joys   of   Home. 


'OY  is  the  natural  and  normal  condition  of  every 
human  soul.  To  be  genuine  and  permanent  it 
must  depend  chiefly  on  internal  instead  of  external 
conditions. 

Every  natural  function  both  of  the  body  and  of  the 
mind  is  attended  with  pleasure  and  never  with  pain,  unless 
it  be  the  penalty  for  a  broken  law.  If  walking  is  not  pleas- 
urable, it  is  because  there  is  some  trouble  with  the  physical 
system.  If  daylight  does  not  bring  to  the  eye  positive 
pleasure,  it  is  because  the  eye  is  diseased  and  there  is  a 
maladjustment  between  it  and  the  light.  The  difficulty  is 
always  on  the  part  of  the  eye  and  never  on  the  part  of  the 
light.  When  the  song  of  birds,  the  sighing  of  the  breeze, 
the  rippling  of  the  brook,  the  chirping  of  the  insect,  and 
the  thousand  voices  of  nature  do  not  bring  to  the  ear  and 
soul  an  exquisite  sense  of  divine  harmony,  it  is  because 
sin  with  rude  hand  has  broken  the  interpretative  chords  of 
the  spirit's  harp. 

We  always  hear  music  at  second  hand,  just  as  we 

120 


Joys  of  Home. 

see  beauty.  Hence  it  has  been  said  that  "  beauty  is  in  the 
eye  of  the  gazer,  and  music  is  in  the  ear  of  the  listener." 

There  is  philosophy  in  this  saying,  for  all  the  music 
that  we  hear  is  that  which  the  soul  itself  produces  when  it 
responds  to  the  myriad  voices  from  without.  These  sounds 
and  voices  from  nature,  God's  great  orchestra,  must  be 
reproduced  by  the  soul's  response  before  they  can  become 
music  to  us.  It  is  not  the  music  without  that  we  hear,  but 
the  spirit's  imitation  of  it. 

If,  then,  the  soul  be  tuned  to  the  same  key  so  as  to  give 
a  true  response,  rest  assured  that  our  lives  will  be  filled 
with  harmony  and  joy,  for  God's  hand  never  strikes  a  dis- 
cord. 

The  secret  of  human  joy,  then,  is  to  keep  the  spirit's 
harp  in  tune.  To  the  spirit  whose  harp  is  out  of  tune,  the 
clouds  are  but  unsightly  rags  with  which  the  mantle  of 
the  sky  is  patched  ;  the  mountain  in  its  grandeur  is  but  an 
eminence  that  is  hard  to  climb  ;  the  sublime  thunder  of 
Niagara  is  but  a  loud  noise  that  makes  it  difficult  to  sleep  ; 
while  the  songs  of  birds,  the  patter  of  the  rain,  the  laugh- 
ter and  the  voices  of  the  woods  are  but  the  troublesome 
prattle  of  Nature's  children. 

I  OY  cannot  be  bought  with  gold.     There  is  but  one 

+J   thing  that  Nature  will  take  in  exchange  for  it,  and 

that  is  obedience  to  the  divine  laws  of  our  being.     Joy  is 

the  only  legitimate  arid  necessary  product  of  every  normal 

121 


Joys  of  Home. 

and  healthy  function.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  for  any 
function  of  our  being,  if  healthy  and  normal  in  its  action, 
to  produce  anything  but  joy,  no  matter  what  may  be  the 
outward  conditions.  The  truest  and  highest  joy  is  a  prod- 
uct of  health,  and  is  but  partially  dependent  on  external 
conditions. 

Nature  aims  at  no  other  grand  result  than  that  of  joy. 
She  has  created  the  myriad  varieties  of  fruit  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  palate.  For  the  joy  of  the  eye  she  has. painted 
on  the  earth's  green  canvas  the  gentle  hints  of  heaven, 
and  bathed  the  picture  in  the  liquid  silver  of  the  sunlight. 
For  the  ear  she  has  filled  the  earth  with  harmony  divine. 
For  the  joy  of  our  social  and  domestic  natures  she  has 
instituted  the  home,  the  fireside,  and  society.  For  our 
intellectual  nature  she  has  filled  the  universe  with  prob- 
lems, the  solution  of  which  gives  us  exquisite  pleasure. 
For  our  spiritual  nature  she  has  given  the  heavenly 
reward  of  an  approving  conscience.  Thus  is  joy  the  eter- 
nal aim  of  Nature. 

I  IN  whom  then  rests  the  blame  when  life's  joys  are 
tarnished  and  its  sweetness  turned  to  bitterness  ? 
Whom  shall  we  blame  for  the  strained  and  weakened 
eye  that  makes  the  sunlight  painful  ?  Whom  shall  we 
blame  for  the  overwrought  brain  that  makes  causation 
and  all  problems  irksome  ?•  Whom  shall  we  blame  for  the 
seared  and  deadened  conscience  that  makes  duty  a  task 

122 


Joys  of  Home. 

and  honor  a  burden  ?  We  fancy  that  the  conscience  of 
none  of  our  readers  is  yet  so  far  deadened  that  he  will 
not  quickly  answer,  "  I  myself  am  to  blame." 

The  clamor  for  joy  and  pleasure,  then,  when  rightly 
interpreted,  is  a  universal  call  to  duty,  for  the  reward  of 
duty  is  unalloyed  joy.  It  is  a  call  to  study  and  mental 
discipline  ;  for  the  fruit  of  culture,  like  that  of  duty,  is  joy 
and  only  joy.  It  is  a  call  to  physical  obedience  and  to  the 
cultivation  of  health  ;  for  joy  is  the  necessary  and  insepa- 
rable accompaniment  of  these,  and  without  them  it  cannot 
exist. 

Let  the  reader  remember  this  one  fact,  that  obedience 
to  the  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  laws  of  our  being  is 
the  only  condition  that  Nature  imposes  upon  us,  and  when 
this  one  condition  is  complied  with  she  will  shower  upon  us 
joys  untold.  She  will  make  the  breath  of  morning  a  source 
of  exquisite  delight.  The  very  consciousness  of  existence 
will  thrill  us  with  that  joy  which  all  have  felt  at  rare 
intervals,  undefinable,  and  too  subtle  for  any  analysis. 

External  objects  and  conditions  seem  to  play  no  part 
in  the  program.  At  most  they  are  only  the  occasions  and 
not  the  causes  of  the  joy.  We  look  into  the  face  of  a 
friend  or  out  over  the  sheen  of  a  lake,  and  we  feel  an  un- 
utterable joy  coursing  through  all  the  channels  of  our 
being,  and  welling  up  in  gurgling  laughter  ;  and  we  can- 
not possibly  tell  why  we  laugh.  The  joy  that  comes  to 
perfect  health  with  the  sweet  intoxication  of  the  morning 

123 


Joys  of  Home. 

dew,  is  "the  purest  and  sweetest  that  Nature  can  yield.'' 
Such  is  the  bountiful  reward  of  Nature  for  obedience  to 
her  laws. 

We  have  dwelt  thus  at  length  on  the  laws  that  govern 
the  emotion  of  joy  because  they  have  an  important  bearing 
on  the  subject  of  which  we  are  treating. 

[HE  fireside  is  the  only  spot  where  it  is  possible  to 
^  obey  all  the  laws  of  our  being  ;  hence  it  is  the  only 

spot  where  supreme  joy   can  exist.    Domestic  joy  is  the 

only  joy  that  is  complete. 

•Truly  has  the  poet  said  : — 

"  Domestic  joy,  thou  only  bliss 
Of  paradise  that  hath  survived  the  fall." 

Man  may  cultivate  his  intellect  and  derive  pleasure 
from  obedience  to  its  laws,  even  though  he  may  not  have  a 
home.  He  may  derive  a  joy  from  obedience  to  the  laws  of 
his  moral  nature  while  he  is  a  hermit  or  a  wanderer.  He 
may  even  derive  some  enjoyment  from  partial  obedience  to 
the  laws  of  his  social  nature.  But  all  enjoyment  from  this 
source  must  be  partial,  because  all  obedience  to  the  social 
law  must  be  incomplete  outside  the  domestic  circle.  The 
family  is  the  truest  type  of  society. 

But  without  a  fireside,  man's  domestic  nature,  from 
which  he  derives  by  far  the  largest  amount  of  his  earthly 
enjoyment,  cannot  but  remain  cold  and  almost  entirely 

124 


Joys  of  Home. 

inactive.  This  department  of  his  nature  can  be  kept  alive 
only  by  the  heat  of  the  hearthstone.  The  home  is  the 
place  where  all  the  joys  of  life  may  exist  in  their  ripest 
fruition. 

Even  the  intellectual  nature,  which  is  the  farthest 
removed  from  the  sphere  of  domestic  influence,  cannot  be 
developed  to  its  fullest  possibility  outside  of  the  home  ;  for 
the  boy  requires  in  the  first  stage  of  his  intellectual  devel- 
opment the  wholesome  spirit  of  rivalry  and  emulation  that 
exists  among  children  of  the  same  household.  In  every 
stage  he  needs  the  stimulus  of  honest  commendation,  and 
this  comes  in  its  purest  and  most  useful  form  from  the 
members  of  the  same  family. 

The  joys  peculiar  to  the  moral  and  spiritual  nature 
must  be  only  partial,  and  far  below  what  this  part  of  our 
being  is  capable  of  yielding,  unless  it  be  cultivated  in  the 
sanctuary  of  home.  Conscience  must  be  kept  sharp  by  the 
pathetic  appeals  of  little  children,  by  the  tender  looks  and 
anxious  words  of  mothers  and  sisters,  and  by  the  nice 
adjustments  of  domestic  obligations. 

1  if  HAT  a  plea  do  we  find  in  these  facts  for  the  institu- 
^  tion  of  home,  and  how  much  is  signified  by  "  the 
joys  of  home"  !  No  words  of  ours  are  necessary  to  impress 
that  significance  upon  the  minds  of  those  who  are  the 
members  of  happy  families.  With  what  feelings  of  delight 
do  such  look  forward  to  the  evening  hour  when  the  family, 

125 


Joys  of  Home. 

overflowing  with  joy,  shall  gather  around  the  board  with 
mirth  and  laughter.  How  the  father's  heart  thrills  at  the 
sudden  thought  that  the  hour  is  near  when  he  shall  meet 
his  loved  ones  ;  when  he  shall  leave  his  care  and  troubles 
all  behind,  and  sit  in  his  easy  chair,  or  recline  upon  the 
sofa,  and  watch  the  fire  light  dancing  on  the  wall  and  hear 
the  merry  voices  of  the  children,  or  listen  to  the  sweet 
music  of  domestic  contentment.  Can  heaven  yield  a 
sweeter  joy  than  this  ? 

But  the  joys  of  home  are  not  to  be  measured  by  actual 
domestic  felicity,  for  home  has  joys  independent  of  this. 
There  is  joy  in  the  very  thought  that  one  has  a  home. 
There  is  joy  in  the  poetry  with  which  the  divine  artists  of 
time  and  memory  conspire  to  paint  the  old  homestead. 

Joy  is  heightened  and  pain  is  lightened  by  being 
shared,  but  home  is  the  only  place  on  earth  where  they  can 
be  fully  shared.  Everywhere  else  there  is  a  reserve  that 
makes  our  joys  and  pains  peculiarly  our  own.  At  home 
the  heart  may  be  opened,  and  all  that  it  knows  and  feels 
may  be  known  and  felt  by  others. 

The  joys  of  home  are  the  only  ones  of  which  we  never 
weary.  We  grow  tired  of  those  joys  that  come  from  min- 
gling promiscuously  in  society.  We  tire  of  the  exciting 
pleasures  of  trade  and  commerce.  We  tire  of  gazing  at 
the  marble  fronts  and  gilded  palaces  of  the  great  city. 
We  shut  our  eyes  and  close  our  ears  in  weariness  and  dis- 
gust even  at  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  public  park. 

126 


Joys  of  Home. 

But  we  never  grow  tired  of  a  mother's  cheer,  although  the 
birds  in  the  park  may  weary  us.  We  may  leave  the  art 
gallery  satiated,  but  the  old  pictures  on  the  walls  of  home 
are  ever  new. 

Let  us  then  cherish  the  joys  of  home,  for  their  peren- 
nial freshness  hints  at  their  eternity.  The  child,  who  with 
his  playmates,  wanders  from  his  home  over  the  hill  and 
meadow,  when  he  wearies  of  his  sports  and  games,  turns 
at  nightfall  to  his  home  to  lay  his  little  weary  head  upon 
his  mother's  breast.  So  when  we  shall  weary  of  the  little 
sports  and  games  of  earth,  may  we  find  our  homeward 
way  back  across  life's  meadow  and  up  the  hill  to  the 
threshold  of  the  home  eternal,  and  lay  our  weary  heads 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  Divine,  forever  and  ever. 

"  Sweet  are  the  joys  of  home, 

And  pure  as  sweet ;  for  they 
Like  dews  of  morn  and  evening  come, 
To  make  and  close  the  day. 

"  The  world  hath  its  delights, 

And  its  delusions,  too  ; 
But  home  to  calmer  bliss  invites, 
More  tranquil  and  more  true. 

"  The  mountain  flood  is  strong, 

But  fearful  in  its  pride  ; 
While  gently  rolls  the  stream  along 
The  peaceful  valley's  side. 
127 


Joys  of  Home. 

Life's  charities,  like  light, 

Spread  smilingly  afar ; 
But  stars  approached  become  more  bright, 

And  home  is  life's  own  star. 

The  pilgrim's  step  in  vain 

Seeks  Eden's  sacred  ground  ! 
But  in  home's  holy  joys  again 

An  Eden  may  be  found. 

A  glance  of  heaven  to  see, 

To  none  on  earth  is  given  ; 
And  yet  a  happy  family 

Is  but  an  earlier  heaven." 


128 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN. 


Education   of  oi_ir   Girls. 


HE  education  of  woman  is  among  the  foremost 
problems  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It  is  something 
more  than  a  social  problem.  It  is  a  civil  and  politi- 
cal, a  moral  and  religious  problem  as  well.  Inasmuch  as  the 
presence  of  woman  constitutes  one  of  the  chief  charms  and 
benefits  of  society,  and  inasmuch  as  it  is  she  who  far 
mpre  than  man  gives  character  to  society,  her  education 
and  culture  are  a  social  problem. 

But  into  her  care  have  been  intrusted  the  nation's 
future  statesmen,  those  who  are  soon  to  be  clothed  with 
authority  and  to  make  laws  for  the  government  of  man- 
kind. Hence  her  education  becomes  a  civil  and  political 
problem.  Not  only  is  she  intrusted  with  the  guardian- 
ship of  the  intellect  and  character  of  the  world's  statesmen 
and  philosophers,  but  her  gentle  presence,  as  she  bends 
over  the  cradle,  and  the  silent  influence  of  her  daily  life 
are  shaping  the  entire  moral  character  of  the  coming  gen- 
eration ;  and  thus  does  the  education  of  woman  become  a 
great  and  moral  problem. 

129 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

Again,  since  she  shapes  the  moral  character  of  the 
world,  and  since  the  eternal  destiny  of  man  depends  upon 
the  character  in  this  life,  it  follows  that  her  education 
becomes  the  profoundest  spiritual  and  religious  problem. 

IN  view  of  these  momentous  facts  what  should  consti- 
tute the  education  of  our  girls  ?  Human  life  is  short 
and  its  powers  of  endurance  are  limited.  None  of  us  can 
reasonably  hope  to  accomplish  all  that  our  imagination 
may  picture  to  our  minds  as  desirable.  We  cannot  appro- 
priate the  great  sea  of  knowledge.  We  surely  cannot  do 
better  than  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who  picked  up  only  a  few 
pebbles  on  the  shore.  But  whether  we  are  able  to  pick  up 
one  or  many  of  these  pebbles  we  should  select  only  those 
whose  size  and  shape  best  adapt  them  to  our  purpose. 

We  have  no  argument  to  offer  against  the  study  of 
those  branches  which  utilitarians  are  wont  to  condemn  as 
involving  a  waste  of  time  and  energy.  We  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  this  utilitarian  idea.  We  pity  the  man  who  is 
able  even  to  distinguish  between  beauty  and  utility. 
That  mind  which  does  not  see  the  highest  use  in  Niagara 
is  but  poorly  developed  and  poorly  educated.  Nature  has 
drawn  no  line  between  the  beautiful  and  the  useful.  On 
the  contrary,  she  has  purposely  blended  them  in  an  indis- 
tinguishable union.  Every  apple  tree  is  first  a  vase  of 
flowers  and  then  a  golden  fruit  basket.  A  blossom  is  the 
preface  to  every  useful  product.  Before  Nature  can  allow 

130 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

even  a  potato  to  grow  and  ripen  she  places  the  divine  seal 
of  beauty  on  it  in  the  form  of  a  little  flower.  That  little 
flower,  which  is  made  the  necessary  condition  of  the  pota- 
to's development,  was  placed  there  to  teach  us  that  there 
is  a  use  in  beauty  and  a  beauty  in  use.  Hence  we  would 
not  condemn  the  study  of  music  and  the  fine  arts.  The 
history  of  music  is  the  history  of  human  development.  It 
has  been  the  sensitive  gauge  that  has  marked  the  civiliza- 
tion of  every  age  and  nation.  The  music  that  charmed 
the  undeveloped  and  savage  ear  of  the  past  would  be  to  us 
but  rude  noise,  and  perchance  the  divinest  harmony  that 
wafts  our  spirit  starward  may  be  but  discord  compared 
with  the  symphonies  that  echo  down  the  aisles  of  coming 
ages.  Music  is  not  altogether  an  art ;  it  is  a  science  as 
well,  and  viewed  in  its  highest  aspect  it  becomes  the 
grand  exponent  of  that  universal  and  divine  harmony 
which  every  properly  developed  soul  has  felt,  and  which 
gives  credence  to  that  sweetest  of  all  mythologies,  "the 
music  of  the  spheres." 

Thus  while  we  cannot  speak  too  highly  of  the  science 
of  music  as  a  means  of  soul  development  and  heart  culture, 
yet  as  a  mere  outward  accomplishment  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  it  usurps  a  disproportionate  amount  of  time  and 
energy,  and  we  would  unhesitatingly  condemn  that  method 
of  study  which  would  reduce  the  science  and  art  of  music 
to  a  mere  system  of  finger  and  vocal  gymnastics.  It  is  a 
fact  which  the  observation  of  almost  every  one  will  con- 

131 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

firm,  that  the  present  method  of  musical  instruction  has  a 
direct  tendency  to  take  the  soul  out  of  music,  and  leave  it, 
like  the  poetry  of  Pope,  a  mere  shell  from  which  the  living 
creature  has  departed.  The  modern  masters  of  song  seem 
to  have  forgotten  the  prime  object  of  music,  viz.,  to  move 
the  heart  and  lift  the  soul.  They  exhibit  their  powers  to 
us  as  the  circus  rider  exhibits  his,  and  they  expect  us  to 
applaud  them  for  their  skill  in  execution  ;  if  we  do  not  they 
attribute  our  indifference  to  the  "lack  of  culture." 

Life  is  too  short  and  its  duties  too  momentous  for  a  girl 
to  spend  years  in  acquiring  proficiency  in  the  production 
of  a  mere  sound,  and  one  in  which,  in  spite  of  her  culture, 
she  is  discounted  by  the  ordinary  canary  bird.  Music 
should  be  made  an  instrument  and  not  a  toy. 

/VLL  this  may  be  true,  says  the  mother,  but  how  shall  I 

V^    educate  my  daughter  ?    It  is  easy  to  generalize 

and  to  criticise  existing  systems  ;  but  what  is  the  particular 

method    which    I    must    follow    in    order    to    avoid    this 

criticism  ? 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  just  view 
concerning  woman's  place  in  the  economy  of  society.  It  is 
useless  to  give  advice  in  regard  to  the  higher  education  of 
woman  to  those  who  covertly  or  otherwise  regard  woman 
as  an  inferior  being,  whose  highest  and  most  legitimate 
function  is  to  swing  a  cradle  through  the  air  twelve  hours  a 
day.  We  would  not  express  other  than  the  tenderest  sen- 

132 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

timents  concerning  the  divine  mission  of  motherhood.  But 
has  the  reader  ever  asked  himself  what  it  is  that  makes 
motherhood  so  divine  ?  Is  it  not,  after  all,  that  which  lifts 
woman  above  motherhood,  that  can  make  motherhood 
divine  ?  We  are  pained  when  an  eminent  writer  gives 
weight  to  expressions  like  the  following :  "  The  great 
vocation  of  woman  is  wifehood  and  motherhood."  Would 
the  author  object  to  a  slight  change  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  phraseology  so  as  to  make  the  expression  applicable  to 
man  ?  'Would  those  who  think  that  the  quoted  words 
express  a  fine  thought  be  offended  with  the  following  ? 
The  great  vocation  of  man  is  husbandhood  and  father- 
hood. The  moment  we  exalt  motherhood  to  the  rank  of  a 
prime  object,  that  moment  does  it  descend  to  the  level  of 
the  function  involved,  and  the  divine  mother  becomes 
simply  a  mammal  of  the  genus  "  homo." 

All  there  is  of  divinity  in  motherhood  is  derived  from 
the  divinity  of  womanhood.  Why  does  the  artist  always 
paint,  that  kind  of  motherhood  which  suggests  to  our  minds 
the  condescension  of  the  divine  to  the  human  ?  It  is  not 
the  motherhood,  but  the  condescension  to  motherhood,  that 
makes  it  divine  and  beautiful.  Whatever  heightens  and 
glorifies  woman's  nature,  then,  renders  more  beautiful  and 
more  divine  the  mission  of  motherhood.  It  is  the  seminary 
that  sanctifies  the  nursery. 

We  hope  the  world  has  heard  the  last  of  that  sickly 
sentiment  concerning  "woman's  sphere,"  "the  hand  that 

133 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

rocks  the  cradle  rules  the  world,"  etc.  If  that  hand  were 
permitted  to  take  hold  of  the  world  a  little  more  directly,  it 
would  not  at  all  interfere  with  its  ability  to  rock  the 
cradle.  The  female  robin  must  feed  and  care  for  its 
young,  but  it  finds  time  each  morning  to  sing  its  little 
hymn  of  praise  upon  the  tree-top  to  its  Maker.  So  woman 
may  rock  the  cradle  sufficiently  each  day  and  yet  find  time 
to  glorify  her  God  with  her  intellect. 

We  would  see  the  little  sister  and  brother  hand  in  hand 
enter  the  primary  school ;  we  would  see  them  together 
promoted  to  the  grammar  school ;  we  would  see  them 
struggling  on  through  the  course  all  unconscious  that  there 
is  any  radical  difference  in  their  mental  constitutions ;  we 
would  see  them  graduate  from  the  high  school  together, 
and  together  enter  the  university,  and  here  through  four 
years  of  intellectual  conflict  we  would  see  them  stand  side 
by  side  in  that  fiercely  contested  arena,  and  with  tongue 
and  pen  and  brain  compete  for  those  prizes  whose  winning 
foreshadows  life's  success.  We  would  see  them  both  at  the 
graduating  exercises,  fearlessly  giving  to  the  world  a  spec- 
imen of  their  thought  and  eloquence, 

"  Mid  the  sweet  inspiration  of  music  and  flowers." 

NOR  would   we   see   them  part  here;  but  with  brave 
hearts    enter    the    same    profession.      We    see    no 
good    reason    why    women    should    not    serve  their  kind 

134 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

as  lawyers,  doctors,  and  ministers.  It  is  true  there 
are  objections  and  hindrances  incidental  to  their  sex,  but 
these  we  believe  are  fully  counterbalanced  by  those  quali- 
fications in  which  they  must  be  acknowledged  even  supe- 
rior. 

In  medicine,  it  is  fast  coming  to  be  the  opinion  of  the 
world  that  woman,  whatever  may  be.  her  incidental  dis- 
abilities, is  by  nature  even  better  endowed  than  man 
with  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  talent  that  prophesy  suc- 
cess. One  of  these  peculiarities  is  that  intuitive  insight 
which,  when  supplemented  by  scientific  knowledge,  leaps 
to  right  conclusions  with  the  certainty  of  an  instinct.  It 
is  in  moments  of  emergency  that  woman's  mind  betrays  its 
peculiar  fitness  for  the  medical  profession.  All  must 
admit  that  she  is  the  natural  nurse,  and  it  is  almost  an 
adage  among  physicians  that  "  as  much  depends  upon 
the  nursing  as  upon  medical  skill."  We  would  not,  of 
course,  make  this  claim  for  woman  with  reference  to  all 
professions.  It  is  not  the  general  superiority  of  woman 
that  we  seek  to  prove,  but  simply  that  for  the  profession 
of  medicine,  at  least,  she  has  some  special  qualifications. 

But  we  would  not  deny  that  she  may  with  equal  pro- 
priety enter  almost  any  of  the  other  professions,  and  in 
this  we  are  confident  that  we  only  anticipate  the  tide  of 
public  sentiment.  How  eminently  do  her  sincerity,  moral- 
ity, and  spiritual  mindedness  fit  her  to  point  the  world  to 
nobler  endeavors  and  higher  ideals  ! 

135 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

Many  of  the  arguments  which  prove  her  fitness  to 
minister  as  a  physician  to  the  diseased  bodies  of  mankind 
also  go  to  prove  her  special  fitness  to  minister  as  a  moral 
physician  to  their  diseased  souls. 

Why,  then,  should  our  talented  and  ambitious  girls 
lament  that  there  is  no  field  open  for  them  ?  There  are  very 
few  professions  open  to  their  brothers  which  they  may 
not  also  enter  if  they  will  but  have  the  courage,  not  the 
immodesty,  to  step  aside  from  the  conventional  path  which 
the  hand  of  society  has  marked  out  for  them.  But  while 
woman  possesses  so  many  of  the  qualities  requisite  in  the 
professions,  there  are  still  few  women  who  are  adapted  to 
a  professional  life,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  men. 
Hence  a  professional  education  cannot  meet  the  require- 
ments of  the  great  mass  either  of  girls  or  of  boys.  "The 
greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number"  should  be  our 
motto.  We  must  go,  then,  to  the  little  farmhouse  and 
the  little  cottage  beneath  the  hill.  Not  that  the  farmhouse 
and  the  cottage  are  the  abodes  of  intellectual  weakness. 
On  the  contrary,  history  shows  that  the  world's  great 
minds,  like  wheat,  potatoes,  and  apples,  are  usually  pro- 
duced on  farms,  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  mass  of 
the  people,  those  to  whom  we  wish  to  speak,  are  symbol- 
ized by  the  farmhouse  and  the  cottage. 


136 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

lijHAT,  then,  shall  constitute  the  education  of  the 
^  common  girl  who  is  destitute  of  the  ambition  and, 
perhaps,  the  talent  to  become  great  and  useful  in  any 
professional  capacity?  We  answer,  in  the  first  place,  that 
her  education  should  be  as  varied  and  perfect  as  possible, 
if  for  no  other  reason,  to  enable  her  properly  to  educate 
and  rear  her  own  children.  Whatever  grand  truths  are 
planted  in  the  mother's  mind  take  root  in  the  next  genera- 
tion, and  there  grow,  blossom,  and  shed  their  perfume  on 
the  world.  The  child  receives  the  mother's  very  thought 
by  intuition.  If  the  mother's  mind  is  weak  and  narrow  in 
its  range,  the  child  is  affected  by  this  fact  long  before  it 
finds  any  meaning  in  the  mother's  words.  But  if  the 
mother's  mind  is  cultured  and  refined  by  study  until  her 
thoughts  are  grand  and  far-reaching,  the  child's  soul  will 
grow  and  expand  under  the  mesmeric  influence  of  these 
thoughts,  as  the  plant  grows  under  the  influence  of  the 
sun. 

Again,  education,  or  the  refinement  and  organic  im- 
provement resulting  from  education,  is  transmitted  from 
mother  to  child.  Who  cannot  tell  by  the  looks  of  a  little 
boy  whether  his  mother  was  educated  or  not  ?  The  child 
of  the  educated  mother  will  have  a  finer  grained  organism ; 
he  will  be  handsomer,  will  have  more  regular  features  than 
the  child  of  the  ignorant  parent.  As  a  rule  he  will  acquire 
the  use  of  language  at  an  earlier  period.  He  will  also 

137 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

generally  be  found  more  open  and  frank  in  his  manner, 
and  more  susceptible  to  moral  and  spiritual  influences. 

OW  grand  and  comprehensive,  then,  becomes  the 
theme  of  woman's  education.  To  the  parent  no 
question  can  be  more  important  than  how  shall  I  educate 
my  daughter  ?  If  it  is  impossible  to  educate  both  let  the 
son  go  uneducated,  and  educate  the  daughter.  The  im- 
portance of  the  son's  education  may  be,  indeed,  beyond 
estimation ;  yet  that  of  the  daughter  is  even  more  im- 
portant. 

Many  parents  believe  that  the  virtue  of  their  daughters 
will  be  more  secure  if  they  remain  in  general  ignorance  ; 
but  the  frightful  statistics  of  our  great  cities  show  this  to 
be  a  terrible  mistake.  It  is  a  fact  that  cannot  be  denied, 
that  the  ranks  of  that  army  which  parade  the  streets  of 
the  great  cities  at  midnight,  in  painted  shame,  are  filled 
from  the  country.  Few  are  natives  of  the  city,  notwith- 
standing the  dangers  and  temptations  of  city  life  are  far 
greater  than  those  of  the  country. 

There  can  be  but  one  explanation  of  this  fact.  The 
superior  educational  facilities  of  the  city  afford  a  salutary 
and  restraining  influence  in  the  form  of  mental  culture. 
The  city  girl  is  better  educated  than  the  country  girl,  hence 
she  has  a  stronger  character. 

Both  may  be  innocent,  for  innocence  may  live  comfort- 
ably with  ignorance,  but  virtue  and  ignorance  cannot  long 

138 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

endure  each  other's  society.  A  young  kitten  is  innocent, 
but  it  has  but  little  character  ;  and  we  could  not  call  it  par- 
ticularly virtuous.  There  are  thousands  of  human  kittens 
whose  virtue  consists  only  in  the  innocence  of  ignorance. 

"  Pulpy  souls 
That  show  a  dimple  for  each  touch  of  sin." 

Let  every  mother  and  father  remember  that  there  is  no 
virtue  in  ignorance,  even  in  ignorance  of  sin.  If  you  do 
not  give  your  boy  an  opportunity  to  use  his  muscles  he  will 
soon  cease  to  have  any  muscles.  So  there  can  be  no  virtue 
without  temptation  ;  if  you  do  not  give  your  daughter  an 
opportunity  to  use  her  virtue  in  the  resistance  of  tempta- 
tion, it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  will  soon  cease  to  have 
any  virtue. 

A  certain  woman  had  a  choice  plum  tree,  the  fruit  of 
which  she  was  anxious  should  ripen.  The  birds  had  car- 
ried away  all  but  one,  and  over  this  she  bound  a  cloth.  It 
was  safe  from  the  birds,  but,  while  she  shut  it  from  them, 
she  shut  it  also  from  the  sunshine  and  the  storms,  which 
alone  could  ripen  it,  and  it  withered  away  and  fell. 

The  mother  should  teach  her  daughter  above  all  things 
to  know  herself. 

The  man  was  unwise,  who,  fearing  that  his  bird  dog 
would  acquire  the  habit  of  killing  barn-fowl,  shut  him  up 
during  his  puppyhood  and  secluded  from  his  sight  every 
kind  of  bird.  When  he  released  him  to  test  the  merits  of 

139 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

his  system  of  education,  the  dog  rushed  at  the  fowls  and 
killed  them  all  before  his  master  could  call  him  off. 

Would  he  not  have  acted  more  wisely  had  he  taught 
the  young  dog  to  discriminate  between  barn-fowl  and  wild- 
fowl ?  As  it  was  he  did  not  educate  him,  but  attempted  to 
suppress  an  inborn  instinct. 

Equally  unwise  is  the  mother  who  keeps,  or  tries  to 
keep,  her  daughter  in  ignorance  concerning  those  things 
which  she  has  a  divinely  given  right  to  know.  Let  her 
direct  her  daughter's  intuitions  as  nature  unfolds  them,  but 
never  attempt  to  suppress  them,  for  sooner  or  later  there 
must  come  a  revelation. 

\  *  f  HATEVER  may  be  true  concerning  the  question  of 
^  woman's   rights,  whether    or  not  she  has  a  moral 
right  to  participate  in  the  civil  government  of  society,  we 
will  not  here  attempt  to  discuss. 

A  concession  of  her  rights,  however,  as  interpreted  by 
the  strongest  advocate  of  woman's  suffrage,  is  not  at  all 
inconsistent  with  the  undisputed  fact  that  woman  finds  her 
highest  mission  at  the  altar  of  home.  Nor  does  this  fact 
interfere  with  what  we  have  already  said  concerning  the 
inconsistency  of  making  wifehood  and  motherhood  the 
prime  object  of  life. 

The  doctrine  of  woman's  rights  can  never  be  proved  by 
contending  that  she  is  not  by  constitution  and  nature  calcu- 
lated to  pursue  a  somewhat  different  object  in  life  from 

140 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

that  which  man  pursues,  or  at  least  to  pursue  the  same  by 
somewhat  different  methods. 

If  it  could  be  shown  that  men  and  women  should  both 
engage  in  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  it  would  be  still 
undeniable  that  woman  is  best  adapted  to  the  more  aesthetic 
portion  of  the  labor,  and  man  to  the  rougher  and  heavier 
portion.  If  a  flower  garden  or  nursery  were  placed  in  the 
midst  of  rough  stubble,  none  would  deny  that  it  would  be 
natural  for  the  man  to  mow  the  stubble,  while  the  woman 
should  tend  the  garden  in  its  midst.  This  would  be  true 
even  if  it  should  be  shown  that  woman  should  help  to 
till  the  soil. 

So  if  it  should  be  shown  that  woman  has  a  moral  right 
to  participate  in  the  solution  of  social  problems,  which  we 
are  not  by  any  means  prepared  to  deny,  it  would  still  be 
true  that  it  is  her  most  natural  function  to  have  particular 
charge  of  the  little  nursery,  home,  in  the  midst  of  the 
rough  stubble  of  human  society. 

\  A  [OMAN'S  education,  then,  is  necessarily  very  imper- 
^     feet,  unless  it  be  largely  in  the  line  of  that  which 
best  becomes  her  nature. 

She  should  have,  emphatically,  a  home  education,  and 
this  means  something  more  than  a  knowledge  of  the 
dustpan  and  broom. 

It  means  something  more  than  a  mere  knowledge  of 
the  daily  routine  of  housekeeping,  in  the  popular  sense  of 

141 


Education  of  Our  Girls. 

that  word.  Woman  holds  in  her  hands  the  physical  health 
of  the  world.  Three  times  each  day  our  lives  and  health 
are  at  the  mercy  and  practical  judgment  of  woman.  Nay, 
more,  for  the  world's  character  is  largely  what  its  food 
makes  it.  Indirectly,  then,  she  exerts  a  modifying  influ- 
ence over  our  loves  and  hates,  hopes  and  fears,  joys  and 
sorrows. 

Whoever  controls  a  being's  stomach  controls  that 
being's  destiny.  What,  then,  can  be  more  important  than 
that  girls  should  be  educated  in  cookery  and  the  related 
sciences,  chemistry  and  hygiene  ?  This,  then,  is  what  we 
mean  by  a  home  education  for  girls,  that  they  should  be 
taught  both  through  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  mothers, 
and  also  through  the  medium  of  books,  how  to  engage 
in  the  noble  occupation  of  housewife  with  the  best 
advantage  to  mankind. 

Such  an  education  cannot  be  obtained  solely  from  prac- 
tice in  the  kitchen.  The  whole  mind  must  be  expanded 
and  disciplined  by  a  study  of  Nature  and  her  laws.  No 
woman  can  possibly  fulfill,  in  the  best  manner,  her  duties 
as  housewife  without  a  good  general  education. 

"  Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower ; 
Then  nature  said,  'A  lovelier  flower 
On  earth  was  never  sown  ; 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take  ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

142 


Education  of  Our  Oirls. 

'  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 
Both  law  and  impulse  ;  and  with  me 
The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 
Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 
To  kindle  or  restrain. 

She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn 
Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm, 
Of  mute  insensate  things. 

'  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  ;  for  her  the  willow  bend  ; 
Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
E'en  in  the  motions  of  the  storm 
Grace  that  shall  mold  the  maiden's  form 
By  silent  sympathy. 

'  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her  ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 
In  many  a  secret  place, 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face.'  ' 


143 


CHAPTER   TWELVE. 

Education   of  Our   Boys. 


N  education  does  not  necessarily  mean  the  dis- 
cipline of  a  college  course.  In  the  present  condi- 
tion of  society,  that  advantage  is,  as  a 
matter  of  necessity,  reserved  for  comparatively  few.  In 
its  true  significance  education  means  something  more 
than  the  ability  to  unravel  the  involved  constructions  of 
a  dead  language  ;  something  more  than  a  proficiency  in 
mathematics  and  the  physical  sciences  ;  something  more, 
even,  than  can  be  reaped  from  the  most  laborious  toil  of 
the  human  intellect.  It  is  a  drawing  out,  a  developing 
and  strengthening  of  every  element,  every  faculty,  every 
power  of  body,  mind,  and  spirit.  It  is  such  a  condition  of 
the  whole  being,  resulting  from  a  constant  refinement,  that 
the  several  powers  shall  observe  the  highest  economy  in 
their  separate  spheres,  while  the  power  of  co-ordinated 
action  shall  be  rendered  more  perfect. 

One  may  so  cultivate  and  strengthen  the  muscles  of  his 
little  finger  that  he  may  be  able  to  support  with  it  twice 
his  weight ;  while  the  main  muscles  of  his  body  are  so 
weak  that  he  may  not  be  able  to  lift  half  his  weight.  You 

144 


Education  of  Our  Boys. 

could  not  call  such  a  man  a  strong  man.  So  one  may  cul- 
tivate his  mere  intellectuality  till  he  becomes  the  brilliant 
center  of  the  world's  admiration,  if  such  were  possible  ; 
but  you  cannot  call  him  educated  if  he  is  vicious,  if  his 
anger  is  uncontrollable,  if  he  is  a  drunkard  or  a  glutton,  if 
he  is  stubborn,  if  he  is  unconscientious,  if  he  is  irreverent, 
if  he  is  spiritually  blind,  if  he  is  selfish,  if  he  is  dead  to 
the  appeals  of  human  want  and  suffering. 

/UN  education  on  this  broad  basis  should  be  the  life 
*  V  work  of  every  human  being. 

We  would  not  by  any  means  be  understood  as  under- 
valuing the  education  of  the  intellect.  The  importance  of 
the  education  of  a  power  is  commensurate  with  the  impor- 
tance of  the  power  itself,  and  certainly  no  power  of  our 
being  can  be  of  more  importance  than  the  intellect. 

A  college  education  is  within  the  reach  of  every  young 
man  who  possesses  the  ambition  for  it,  even  though  he 
may  possess  neither  friends  nor  money.  There  are  hun- 
dreds of  students  in  this  country  who  are  paying  their  own 
way  through  college  by  their  own  energy  and  labor.  In 
most  of  our  colleges,  a  young  man  of  activity  and  determi- 
nation may  earn  during  the  vacation  enough  to  pay  his 
expenses  during  the  term.  So  that  he  who  thirsts  for 
knowledge  has  no  legitimate  excuse  if  he  does  not  avail 
himself  of  a  college  education.  None  should  ask  us  to 
bring  other  evidence  than  that  of  every  intelligent  observer. 

145 


Education  of  Our  Boys. 

There  never  yet  was  occupation  so  low,  nor  obstacle  so 
broad  and  high,  as  to  defeat  the  resolve  of  a  human  soul. 
No  fierce  monster  of  opposition  ever  reared  its  hydra  head 
in  the  path  of  a  human  endeavor,— 

That  would  not  shrink  and  cower 
Before  the  dauntless  power 
Of  a  fearless  human  will. 

There  are  those  who  are  conscious  that  they  were 
richly  endowed  by  nature  with  noble  gifts,  but  who  have 
failed  in  life  through  their  own  indolence.  It  is  customary 
for  these  to  comfort  themselves  in  their  sad  retrospection 
by  repeating  these  melancholy  lines:  — 

"  Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dai-k  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear  ; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to'  blush  unseen 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

Do  those  lines  prove  that  truth  is  not  an  essential  ele- 
ment of  poetry  ?  No,  for  they  are  believed  and  felt  to  be 
true  by  mistaken  souls,  and  in  that  way  they  perform  the 
function  of  truth.  They  convey,  or  rather  seem  to  convey, 
a  solemn  truth  to  those  who,  by  the  unwise  concession  of 
their  own  weakness,  have  unwittingly  surrendered  life's 
argument  to  circumstance,  their  merciless  opponent. 

But  let  us  put  this  doctrine  to  the  practical  test.  We 
have  said  that  an  education  does  not  necessarily  mean  the 
discipline  of  a  college  course.  Indeed,  all  are  not  so  con- 

146 


Education  of  Our  Soys. 

stituted  that  a  college  education  would  bring  them  the 
greatest  good  even  intellectually.  Nor  would  we  be  so 
radical  as  to  deny  that  circumstances  may  defeat  the  pur- 
pose of  merely  going  to  college.  The  circumstance  of 
poverty,  however,  is  not  a  valid  excuse.  At  any  rate,  all 
may  become  well  educated.  Those  men  are  almost  num- 
berless who  have  become  great  and  useful  by  the  light  of  a 
pine  torch,  who  have  learned  the  science  of  mathematics 
with  a  stick  for  a  pencil  and  the  ocean  beach  for  a  slate. 

But  suppose  we  meet  the  barefoot  boy  in  the  street 
picking  rags,  what  word  of  advice  have  we  for  him  ?  He 
will  listen  to  all  our  fine  talk  about  the  grand  possibilities 
which  are  offered  to  the  poorest  and  the  worthiest  in  our 
great  communities  ;  he  will  listen  to  the  story  of  those 
great  souls  who  have  climbed  to  glory  over  fence  rails  and 
canal  boats  ;  and  when  we  have  finished  he  will  meet  us 
with  the  question,  "What  shall  I  do  and  how  shall  I 
begin  ?  " 

Let  us  see  if  we  can  answer  these  questions.  As  the 
first  step  toward  the  desired  result,  he  can  pick  up  a  rag, 
just  as  he  has  been  wont  to  do,  and  examine  it,  not  as  here- 
tofore with  the  simple  purpose  of  determining  whether  he 
shall  put  it  into  one  or  the  other  of  two  baskets  ;  but  he  can 
make  it  the  text-book  with  which  to  begin  an  education. 
He  can  ask  those  older  and  wiser  than  himself  what  it  is 
made  of  and  how  it  is  made.  They  will  point  him  to  the 
great  mill  yonder,  where,  if  he  tells  his  purpose,  he  can 

147 


Education  of  Our  Boys. 

gain  admission  and  learn  something  of  the  mechanical 
principles  involved  in  the  manufacture  of  the  rag.  If  he 
continues  to  make  inquiries  until  he  can  trace  a  piece  of 
cotton  through  all  its  transformations,  till  it  comes  out  a 
piece  of  fine  bleached  cotton,  he  has  surely  begun  an  edu- 
cation in  earnest.  He  can  save  a  penny  a  day  for  a  few 
days  and  buy  a  primer,  and  with  that  primer  under  his  arm 
he  may  politely  accost  any  lady  or  gentleman  with  these 
words,  "  I  am  determined  to  make  the  most  of  myself.  I 
want  to  learn  to  read.  I  have  bought  a  little  book.  Can 
you  give  me  any  advice  or  help  ? " 

There  is  not  a  man  or  woman  in  all  that  great  city  with 
a  heart  so  hard  as  not  to  be  melted  to  sympathy  by  that 
appeal.  He  would  be  astonished  at  the  amount  of  love  and 
sympathy  and  philanthropy  in  the  world  which  he  before 
had  considered  so  cold  and  heartless. 

Young  man,— bootblack,  rag-picker,  obscure  farmer 
boy,  or  dweller  in  the  dingy  haunts  of  the  city, —  remember 
that  Freedom's  goddess  holds  over  your  head  a  crown.  But 
she  never  puts  that  crown  on  any  but  a  sweaty  brow, —  the 
royal  symbol  of  effort  and  worth. 

From  every  lowly  cottage  roof, 

However  poor  and  brown, 
From  every  dusty  hovel,  points 

A  hand  at  glory's  crown. 


148 


Education  of  Our  Boys, 

/V LTHOUGH  it  is  true  that  men  can  be  good  farmers  or 
V_  mechanics  without  being  able  to  read  or  write, 
yet  we  believe  that  the  greatest  possible  number  of  these 
classes  should  be  liberally  educated.  We  often  hear  it 
remarked  that  one  is  very  foolish  to  spend  so  much  time 
and  money  in  procuring  an  education  if  he  intends  to  make 
no  use  of  it,  the  remark  implying  that  if  he  intends  to  enter 
no  profession  the  time  and  money  thus  spent  are  wasted. 

We  have  no  sympathy  or  patience  with  that  view  of 
life.  Man  is  above  the  brutes  chiefly  because  he  knows 
more.  It  is  a  greater  sin  to  take  his  life  than  that  of 
a  brute,  because  he  has  more  life  to  take,  because  his  facul- 
ties are  more  God-like  and  more  powerful. 

Now  education  means  simply  making  these  faculties 
powerful  and  God-like,  and  nothing  more.  Hence  an 
educated  man  is  more  a  man  than  an  uneducated  one.  It 
increases  the  humanity  of  man  and  adds  to  our  very  being. 
Even  if  one  is  to  spend  his  life  in  idleness  gazing  at  the 
clouds,  it  is  a  duty  he  owes  to  himself,  to  the  universe, 
and  to  God,  to  make  the  most  of  himself  by  acquiring  a 
liberal  education. 

I/  NOWLEDGE,  like  virtue,  should  be  an  end  in  itself. 
V-.  Think  of  a  mother  teaching  her  children  to  be  vir- 
tuous because  their  prospects  of  financial  success  would  be 
greater  !     We    should  pity  the  moral  weakness  of  that 
mother.    We  all  instinctively  recognize  virtue  as  a  sublime 

149 


Education  of  Our  Boys. 

object  and  end  in  itself.  It  is  a  part  of  that  God-like 
nature  of  which  we  boast,  it  is  a  part  of  our  very  immor- 
tality. So  is  knowledge.  Why,  then,  should  we  talk  about 
knowledge  and  education  simply  as  means  to  facilitate 
the  accumulation  of  dollars  and  cents  ?  Let  no  mother 
teach  her  boy  such  sophistry. 

The  capacity  of  the  soul  for  enjoyment  is  just  propor- 
tionate to  its  interior  development.  Knowledge  is  to  the 
mind  what  health  is  to  the  body,  it  makes  more  of  us. 

pDUCATION  is  the  handmaid  of  religion.  The  sta- 
^N^  tistics  of  every  community  will  show  that  criminals 
are  taken  from  the  ranks  of  the  ignorant.  If  the  best  and 
highest  minds  do  not  in  some  way  associate  knowledge 
and  religion,  why  are  colleges  and  seminaries  under  the 
direct  supervision  of  the  Christian  church  ?  Education  has 
transformed  the  savage  into  the  Christian.  The  wide  gulf 
that  stretches  between  the  beastly  cannibal  and  the  con- 
scientious Christian  has  been  bridged  by  the  invisible  cables 
of  education,  and  away  into  the  infinitely  potential  future 
shall  stretch  this  golden  bridge,  till  the  farther  end  shall 
rest  upon  the  massive  masonry  of  the  eternal. 

Education  was  divinely  instituted.  Nature  is  the 
schoolmistress  whom  God  employs  to  educate  his  children. 
This  sweet  and  patient  teacher  knows  how  to  win  our 
hearts  so  that  study  becomes  a  pleasure.  Everywhere  she 
has  placed  before  our  eyes  an  open  text-book  with  such 

150 


Education  of  Our  Boys. 

fascinating  pictures  that  we  cannot  help  reading  the 
description  of  them.  She  found  us  with  the  beasts. 
Patiently  she  has  conducted  us  through  the  primary  school 
of  the  savage  and  barbarian,  through  the  grammar  school 
of  war  and  bloodshed,  till  we  have  entered  with  her  the 
high  school  of  modern  civilization.  She  will  lead  us  tri- 
umphantly through  and  admit  us  into  her  vast  university. 
There  she  will  show  us  mysteries  that  would  blind'  us  now. 
In  her  laboratory  we  shall  learn  the  awful  secret  of  being. 
When  we  have  graduated  here  she  will  lead  us  proudly  up 
and  present  us  to  the  Great  Master,  at  whose  side  we  shall 
sit  and  under  whose  tuition  we  shall  turn  our  eyes  star- 
ward  and  forever  and  forever  shall  study  the  infinite  of 
infinites. 

"  The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 

Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight ; 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept, 

Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. " 


151 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN. 

Boolcs   for   the    Home. 


^^^•^ 

OD  be  thanked  for  books,"  says  Channing ; 
"  they  are  the  voices  of  the  distant  and  the 
dead,  and  make  us  heirs  of  all  the  ages."  Car- 
lyle  has  said  that  the  true  university  of  these  days  is  a  col- 
lection of  books.  They  contain  the  garnered  wisdom  of  all 
time.  By  their  means  the  poorest  man  can  sit  at  the  feet 
of  the  world's  greatest  teachers  and  learn  the  lessons  of 
their  noblest  lore. 

"Books,"  says  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  "are  the  win- 
dows through  which  the  soul  looks  out.  A  home  without 
books  is  like  a  house  without  windows.  Let  us  pity  those 
poor  rich  men  who  live  barrenly  in  great  bookless  houses  ! 
Let  us  congratulate  the  poor  that,  in  our  day,  books  are  so 
cheap.  A  library  is  not  a  luxury,  but  one  of  the  necessa- 
ries of  life."  Yet  how  many  homes  are  splendidly 
furnished  with  everything  but  books.  There  are  costly  car- 
pets, sumptuous  furniture,  a  table  laden  with  all  the 
luxuries  of  life, —  everything  that  will  pamper  the  body, 
while  the  soul  is  starved  for  lack  of  knowledge.  Small 
wonder  that  persons  bred  in  such  surroundings  are 

152 


Books  for  the  Home. 

dwarfed  in  mind,  narrow  in  their  range  of  thought,  occu- 
pied with  petty  amusements  or  small  scandal  or  silly  tittle 
tattle. 

Books  give  wings  to  the  soul.  They  enable  it  to  soar 
above  the  sordid  cares  of  life,  to  rise  into  the  eternal  sun- 
light of  the  hills  of  God.  As  one  reads  a  great  masterpiece 
of  literature,  though  even  in  a  prison  cell,  the  narrow  walls 
expand,  his  freed  spirit  ranges  through  space,  he  becomes 
the  contemporary  of  all  times,  the  inhabitant  of  all  lands. 
He  can  say  exultingly  with  Lovelace  :  — 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage." 

"  Reading,"  says  Lowell,  "is  the  key  that  admits  us 
to  the  whole  world  of  thought  and  fancy  and  imagina- 
tion, to  the  company  of  saint  and  sage,  of  the  wisest  and 
the  wittiest  at  their  wisest  and  wittiest  moments.  It  ena- 
bles us  to  see  with  the  keenest  eyes,  hear  with  the  finest 
ears,  and  listen  to  the  sweetest  voices  of  all  time." 

I  HAT  we  may  secure  the  greatest  advantage  from  the 

^  use  of  books  we  should  be  most  careful  in  our  choice. 

An  English   officer    in  India  took  down  a  book  from  his 

library  and  felt  a  slight  sting  in  his  finger  as  he  opened 

it.     In   a  few  hours   his  arm  began  to  swell,  and   in  two 

days  he  was  dead.      He  had  been  stung  by  a  venomous 

153 


Books  for  the  Home, 

asp.  There  are  other  snakes,  more  deadly  still,  that  hide 
in  books ;  that  poison  the  soul  with  a  more  mortal  virus ; 
that  kindle  flames  of  unhallowed  passion  in  the  chambers 
of  the  mind  and  set  the  whole  being  on  fire  with  the  fire 
of  hell. 

Other  books,  by  their  wishy-washy  flood  of  trivial  com- 
monplace, drown  out  the  opportunity  of  studying  the  great 
books  that  are  the  mental  landmarks  of  the  race.  "A 
good  book,"  says  Milton,  "is  the  precious  lifeblood  of  a 
master  spirit,  embalmed  and  treasured  up  on  purpose  to  a 
life  beyond  life."  Why  waste  our  time  upon  a  trashy  and 
frivolous  book  when  we  may  hold  high  converse  with  the 
wisest  sages,  the  greatest  souls,  the  noblest  heroes  the 
world  has  ever  known  ? 

may  be  broadly  described  as  of  two  sorts  : 
Books  of  information,  and  books  of  inspiration,  —  or 
as  De  Quincey  calls  them,  "books  of  knowledge,  and 
books  of  power,"  The  former  are  the  bread  and  butter  of 
life.  The  latter  are  its  richest  wine,  fragrant  with  the 
aroma  of  the  finest  vintage  of  the  soul.  The  former,  to 
change  the  figure,  are  the  tools  for  life's'  daily  use.  The 
latter  are  the  instruments  of  music  for  its  loftiest  and  most 
sacred  moments.  Of  the  former  are  the  text-books  of  our 
trades  and  occupations.  But  even  these  —  so  far  reaching 
are  the  relations  of  life  —  may  touch  the  infinite.  The 
rules  of  mechanics,  the  study  of  science,  the  laws  of 

154 


Books  for  the  Home. 

hygiene,  the  investigation  of  nature,  all  these  reveal  a 
wonder  world  everywhere  around  us.  They  make  us 
exclaim  with  the  psalmist,  "  O  Lord,  how  manifold  are  thy 
works !  In  wisdom  hast  thou  made  them  all :  the  earth 
is  full  of  thy  riches," 

The  study  of  the  past  is  necessary  to  enable  us  to  dis- 
charge the  duties  of  the  present.  And  how  noble,  how 
inspiring,  such  a  study  often  is  !  What  examples  of  hero- 
ism thrill  the  soul,  what  tales  of  suffering  for  conscience's 
sake,  of  fidelity  even  unto  death,  of  sublime  endeavor,  of 
lofty  achievement,  of  brave  battle  with  wrong,  of  saintliest 
suffering,  of  Christ-like  self-sacrifice,  the  records  of  the 
race  reveal  !  All  these  ennoble  and  embrave  our  souls  to 
play  our  part  in  life,  to  discharge  its  often  difficult  duties, 
to  quit  us  like  men,  to  be  strong. 

Such  books  become,  indeed,  books  of  inspiration  as 
well  as  information.  But  by  the  former  phrase  we  mean 
especially  the  writings  of  the  great  poets  and  sages  and 
seers  of  our  race  :  of  Dante  and  Milton,  who  reveal  the 
woes  of  the  nether  world  and  the  joys  of  Paradise  ;  of  the 
myriad-minded  Shakespeare,  who  portrays  the  human  soul 
in  the  great  crises  of  fate,  who  depicts  its  love  and  longing, 
its  agony  and  despair,  its  rapture  and  its  triumph  ;  of 
Wordsworth  and  Bryant,  those  high  priests  of  nature,  who 
interpret  its  inner  meaning  to  the  soul ;  of  Tennyson  and 
Lowell,  who  voice  life's  loftiest  aspirations  and  clothe  in 
"thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that  burn"  its  highest 

155 


Books  for  the  Home. 

a  'd  its  holiest  truths ;  of  Emerson  and  Browning,  with 
their  high  and  calm  philosophy  ;  of  Longfellow  and  Whit- 
tier,  with  their  love  of  the  beautiful,  the  true,  the  good  ; 
their  hate  and  scorn  of  selfishness  and  wrong. 

Tf 

iVBOVE  all,  for  both  instruction  and  inspiration,  for 

V^  guidance  in  life's  lowliest  walks,  and  uplifting  in 
its  highest  flights,  is  the  Word  of  God.  In  those  divine 
oracles  the  Most  High  reveals  his  will  to  man  in  words  so 
simple  that  the  little  child  can  understand  ;  yet  are  there  in 
them  depths  of  wisdom  which  the  wisest  philosophers  can- 
not fathom  ;  heights  which  the  holiest  saint,  unaided,  may 
not  climb.  "  O  the  depth  of  the  riches  both  of  the  wisdom 
and  knowledge  of  God  !  How  unsearchable  are  his  judg- 
ments, and  his  ways  past  finding  out ! " 

A  good  test  of  our  reading  is,  does  it  bring  us  more  in 
sympathy  with  the  word  and  mind  and  will  of  God  ? 
When  the  great  Sir  Walter  Scott  lay  dying  in  his  library 
at  Abbotsford,  he  said  to  Lockhart,  his  son-in-law,  "Reach 
me  the  Book."  "What  book?"  asked  Lockhart,  glancing 
around  upon  the  twenty  thousand  volumes  on  the  walls. 
"  There  is  but  one  Book,"  said  the  dying  man.  And  out- 
shining all  others,  as  the  noonday  sun  outshines  the  stars 
of  night,  is  the  Word  of  God.  All  books  that  bring  us  into 
sympathy  and  harmony  with  this  book,  whether  they  be 
books  of  science,  of  history,  of  the  biography  of  the  world's 
great  men,  —  the  makers  of  epochs,  the  poets  and  phi- 

15G 


Books  for  the  Home. 

losophers,  the  saints  and  sages  and  seers  of  the  race,  —  are 
good  books. 

IN  order  to  gain  time  for  the  best  reading  we  must 
*  rigidly  abridge  that  spent  on  the  second  or  third  best. 
"Read  not  the  Times,"  says  Thoreau,  "read  the  Eterni- 
ties." We  must,  however,  read  the  Times  that  we  may 
know  the  daily  history  of  the  world  in  which  we  live.  The 
modern  daily  papers  are  the  most  wonderful  creation  of 
the  century.  They  are  thrilling  and  throbbing  with  the 
life  of  every  land.  But  their  very  number  and  volume 
demand  a  severe  selection.  They  are  like  the  Franken- 
stein of  the  German  story,  the  goblin  summoned  to  bring 
water  to  the  magician,  which  brought  it  in  such  quantities 
as  to  weli-nigh  drown  him. 

Many  persons  read  nothing  but  the  daily  papers.     Such 
j 

persons  may  have  a  certain  shallow  smartness,  but  they 
cannot  have  much  accurate  information,  much  broad  cul- 
ture, much  deep  or  general  knowledge.  Their  time  and 
attention  is  so  frittered  away  on  the  ephemeral  and  in- 
significant that  they  have  little  time  and  less  taste  for 
things  of  profoundest  interest,  of  most  momentous  impor- 
tance. 

We  must  learn  even  in  reading  the  daily  papers  to  skip 
the  trivial  and  the  trashy,  to  grasp  the  chief  facts,  to  avoid 
the  gossip,  the  scandal,  the  idle  speculations,  most  of  which 
are  disproved  before  the  rising  of  to-morrow's  sun.  Above 

157 


Books  for  the  Home. 

all  should  we  avoid  that  great  curse  of  American  civiliza- 
tion, the  Sunday  newspaper,  with  its  deluge  of  common- 
place, its  ocean  of  frivolous  and  pernicious  reading,  and  its 
very  small  modicum  of  instructive  matter, —  like  FalstafT 's 
monstrous  quantity  of  sack  to  a  beggarly  pennyworth  of 
bread. 

In  the  high  class  weeklies,  the  news  of  the  world,  of 
the  great  events  by  which  history  is  being  made  around 
us,  is  better  digested  and  conclusions  are  more  wisely 
drawn  than  is  possible  in  the  dailies.  The  religious  week- 
lies give  much  attention  to  the  great  moral  movements  of 
the  age,  to  the  achievements  of  missions  at  home  and 
abroad,  to  the  life  and  work  of  the  various  churches  in 
whose  interests  they  are  published.  The  international  sys- 
tem of  Sunday-school  lessons  has  called  forth  a  copious 
literature  in  which  whole  commentaries  are  condensed  into 
pamphlets  for  the  elucidation  of  the  sacred  text.  It  is,  in 
its  way,  a  liberal  education  to  pursue  the  course  of  study 
thus  laid  down.  In  the  great  monthlies  many  of  the  best 
books  in  science,  in  philosophy,  in  fiction,  first  appear. 

But  there  are  a  multitude  of  story  papers  and  maga- 
zines which  are  filled  with  the  most  frivolous  and  sensa- 
tional trash, —  light,  frothy,  and  turgid  in  character,— 
which  cannot  by  any  stretch  of  charity  be  called  literature 
at  all.  These  only  waste  the  time,  corrupt  the  taste,  and, 
in  the  case  of  the  "  Satanic  press,"  debauch  the  soul.  A 
recent  reviewer,  having  examined  a  great  number  of  speci- 

158 


Books  for  the  Home. 

mens  of  this  degraded  press,  writes,  "  Nothing  good  can  be 
said  of  them ;  they  must  be  characterized  as  bad,  worse, 
worst."  They  abound  in  blood-curdling  fiction,  coarse 
description,  prurient  suggestion,  and  vulgar  slang.  Many 
of  these  "  penny  dreadfuls  "  are  specially  written  for  boys 
and  girls  of  crude  and  uncultivated  tastes.  The  statistics 
of  our  prisons  show  that  many  youthful  criminals  have 
been  led  into  lawless  lives  by  the  evil  suggestions  of  these 
pernicious  papers. 

I  HANK  God,  there  is  an  antidote  to  these  agents  of 
^  evil.  There  are  papers  of  pure,  ennobling,  and  uplift- 
ing tendency,  most  carefully  edited  and  handsomely  illus- 
trated. These  are  not  merely  the  issues  of  the  great 
religious  houses,  but  such  splendid  papers  as  "  The  Youth's 
Companion,"  "Harper's  Round  Table,"  "St.  Nicholas, 
the  boys'  and  girls'  own  magazines,  and  many  others. 

The  way  to  keep  bad  reading  out  of  the  home  is  to  fur- 
nish that  which  is  good.  Young  people  will  prefer  bread 
to  carrion,  and  wise  parents  will  ungrudgingly  supply  good 
reading  for  their  households  just  as  they  supply  good  food 
for  their  table.  Some  persons  have,  unfortunately,  little 
taste  for  reading  of  any  sort.  We  have  even  heard  of  col- 
lege graduates  who  have  seldom  read  a  volume  except  their 
text-books.  A  taste  for  good  reading  can  readily  be  culti- 
vated. Give  a  boy  either  of  those  great  classics  of  the 
English  tongue,  "Robinson  Crusoe,"  or  "Pilgrim's  Prog- 

159 


Books  for  the  Home. 

ress,"  and  he  will  soon,  like  Oliver  Twist,  ask  for  more.  A 
whole  literature  for  young  people  has  been  created,  attrac- 
tive in  form,  wholesome  in  spirit,  and  instructive  and 
ennobling  in  general  scope  and  tendency.  Under  wise 
counsels  and  training  the  young  mind  will  grow  up  with  a 
taste  for  wholesome,  pure,  and  bracing  books. 

Wherever  possible  there  should  be  in  every  house  a 
good  dictionary,  an  atlas,  and  a  cyclopedia.  No  unknown 
word  should  be  passed  without  learning  its  meaning.  Thus 
habits  of  definiteness  of  thought  and  exactness  of  expres- 
sion will  be  unconsciously  cultivated.  A  man  or  woman 
who  is  thus  trained  to  a  love  of  good  books,  has  placed  in 
his  hand  the  key  of  all  knowledge.  The  best  books  will  to 
him  prove  solace  in  solitude,  joy  amid  sorrow,  wealth  in 
poverty,  and  gladness  even  in  life's  darkest  gloom.  Such  a 
pure,  refined,  and  cultivated  taste  will  be  a  possession 
which  the  world  cannot  give  nor  take  away.  It  will  the 
better  fit  its  possessor  for  the  duties  of  time  and  for  the 
beatitudes  of  eternity. 


-**-- 


Horne    Reading    Courses. 

I  HE   lists   of    books   in  the  following    courses    have 
^     been  prepared  with  the  view  of  affording  to  the 
reader  a  bird's-eye   view  of  the  literature   and  thought- 
activity  of  the  world  from  the  most  authoritative  sources. 

They  have  been  prepared  from  the  bibliographies  of  two  of 

160 


Books  for  the  Home. 

the  most  experienced  authorities  living,  George  Haven 
Putnam,  the  eminent  publisher,  and  John  Millar,  B.  A., 
Deputy  Minister  of  Education  of  Ontario,  with  additional 
suggestions.  These  books  represent  a  liberal  education  in 
themselves  and  at  the  same  time  are  vast  in  scope,  compre- 
hensive in  treatment,  authoritative,  and,  in  many  instances, 
masterpieces  of  literature  in  their  respective  spheres. 

Bootes  of  Reference. 

Webster,     Worcester,  or    Standard  Chambers's,  Appleton's,  Johnson's, 

Dictionary.  or  other  Cyclopedia. 

W.  and  A.  K.  Johnston's  or  other  Smith's  Bible  Dictionary. 

Atlas.  Anthem's  Classical  Dictionary. 

History. 

Cox's  Greece.  Guizot's  History  of  France. 
Arnold's  Rome.  Students  Motley's  History  of  Hoi- 
Students  Gibbon.  land. 

Milman's  History  of  the  Jews.  D'Aubigne's  History  of  the  Refor- 

Green's    Shorter    History  of  Eng-          mation. 

land.  Ridpath's  or  Bancroft's  History  of 

Hallain's  Middle  Ages.  the  United  States. 

McCarthy's    History   of    our  own      Parkman's  Canada. 

Times. 

Biography. 

Hughes'  Alfred  the  Great.  Book  of  Golden  Deeds. 

Washington  Irving's  Columbus.  Biographies    of    Luther,    Melanch- 

Carlyle's  Cromwell.  thon,    Zwiugle,     Calvin,    Knox, 

English  Men  of  Letters,  Edited  by  Wesley,  Carey,  Morrison,  Coke, 

John  Morley.  Patton,  Duff,  Mackay  of  Uganda, 

Smiles'    Self    Help,    Duty,    Thrift,  Mackay  of  Formosa. 

and  Character.  British  Statesmen  Series. 

101 


Books  for  the  Home. 

Travel  and  Description. 

Kiuglake's  Eothen.  Hawthorne's  Our   Old  Home,  Eng- 
Layard's  Nineveh,  abridged.  land. 

Stanley's  Sinai  and  Palestine.  Wallace's  Russia. 

Bayard  Taylor's  Views  Afoot.  Howells'  Italian  Journeys. 


General  Literature. 


Lord  Bacon's  Essays. 
Carlyle's  Essays. 
Macaulay's  Essays. 
Emerson's  Essays. 
Fronde's   Short   Studies   on 

Subjects. 
Lowell's  Among  My  Books. 


Great 


Dana's  Household  Book  of  Poetry. 

Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury. 

^•Esop's  Fables. 

The  Poetical  Works  of  Longfellow, 
Lowell,  Whittier,  Tennyson,  Mil- 
ton, and  Bell's  Shakespeare 
(Funk  &  Wagnall's  Edition). 


\Vork:s  of  Imagination. 


Pilgrim's  Progress. 

Robinson  Crusoe. 

Don  Quixote. 

Sir  Walter  Scott's  Tales. 

Mrs.  Stowe's  Stories. 

The  Schonberg-Cotta  Series. 

Miss  Muloch's  John  Halifax,  and 
A  Noble  Life. 

Dickens's  Oliver  Twist,  Nicholas 
Nickleby,  Christinas  Carol,  Da- 
vid Copperfield,  Old  Curiosity 
Shop,  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 


Rev.  Charles  Sheldon's  Religious 
Stories. 

Charles  Kingsley's  Hypatia,  and 
Westward  Ho. 

Miss  Alcott's  Little  Men,  and  Lit- 
tle Women. 

Hughes'  Tom  Brown  at  Rugby. 

Henty's  Historical  Stories. 

Conan  Doyle's  White  Company, 
and  Micah  Clark. 

Hawthorne's  The  House  of  Seven 
Gables. 


Science. 


Proctor's  Popular  Science,  Other 
Worlds  than  Ours,  and  Light 
Science  for  Leisure  Hours,  Half 
Hours  with  the  Stars. 


Miss  Buckley's  Fairyland  of  Science. 
Dana's  Geology. 


162 


Books  for  the  Home. 


Course  for   Ambitious  Young   People. 


History  and  Biography. 

Outlines  of  Universal  History,  The  American  Commonwealth, 

Fisher.  Bryce. 

Shorter  History  of  the  English  Peo-  Our  Country,  Strong. 

pie,  Green.  Life  of  Washington,  Irving. 

Fifteen    Decisive    Battles     of     the  Life  of  Lincoln,  Nicolay  and  Hay. 

World,  Creasy.  Life   of   Gladstone,    Herbert  Glad- 
Leading  Events  of  American  His-  stone. 

tory,  Montgomery. 

Travel  and.  Science. 

Bird's-Eye  View  of  the  World,  Political  Economy,  Ely. 

Reclus.  Walks  and  Talks  in  the  Geological 

Due  West,  Ballou.  Field,  Winchell. 

Over  the  Ocean,  Curtis  Guild.  Recreation  in  Astronomy,  Warren. 

Physical    Geography,    Russell  Hin-  Chemistry,  Appleton. 

man.  Introduction  to  Botany,  Steele. 

Physics,  J.  D.  Steele.  Hygienic  Physiology,  Steele. 


Religious  Literature. 

The  Bible,  especially  John,  Mark,       History   of   the    Christian  Church, 
Proverbs,  Acts,  Psalms,  I.  and  II.  Fisher. 

Timothy,  James.  Manual  of  Christian  Evidence, 

Row. 


Essays. 

Sketch-book,  Irving.  Ethics  of  the  Dust,  Ruskin. 

Outline  Study  of  Man,  Hopkins.  Handbook  of  Universal  Literature, 

Self   Reliance,     Manners,     Friend-  Botta. 

ship,  Love,  Emerson.  Makers   of   Modern  English,  Daw- 
Self  Help,  Smiles.  son. 

163 


Books  for  the  Home. 

Poetry  and  Drama. 

Paradise  Lost,  Milton.  Lady  of  the  Lake,  Scott. 

Hamlet,  Shakespeare.  Marmion,  Scott. 

Julius  Cresar,  Shakespeare.  Tennyson,  Whittier,  Longfellow. 


Kietion. 


David  Copperfield,  Dickens. 
Vanity  Fair,  Thackeray. 
Hypatia,  Kingsley. 
Kenilworth,  Scott. 
John  Halifax,  Miss  Muloch. 
The  Pilot,  Cooper. 


Adam  Bede,  George  Eliot. 
Ben  Hur,  Wallace. 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  Bunyan. 
Scarlet  Letter,  Hawthorne. 
Tom  Brown  at  Rugby,  Hughes. 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  Mrs.  Stowe. 


Advanced     Course    for    Yoting    Women. 


The  Dawn  of  History,  Keary. 

Outlines  of  Universal  History, 
Fisher. 

Outlines  of  European  History,  Free- 
man. 

History  of  the  United  States,  Hig- 
ginson. 


History  and  Biography. 

Shorter  History  of  the  English  Peo- 
ple, Green. 

French  Revolution,  Carlyle. 
Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson. 
Irving's  Life  of  Washington. 
Life  of  Gladstone,  Morley. 


Friction  and  Travel. 


On  the  Heights,  Auerbach. 
Les  Miserables,  Hugo. 
David  Copperfield,  D'ickens. 
Ivan  hoe,  Scott. 
Romola,  George  Eliot. 
Hypatia,  Kingsley. 
Uarda,  George  Ebers. 
A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  Dickens. 
Vanity  Fair,  Thackeray. 


Lorna  Doone,  Blackmore. 

The  Scarlet  Letter,  Hawthorne. 

Alhambra,  Irving. 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  Mrs.  Stowe. 

My  Novel,  Bulwer. 

Bird's-Eye  View  of  the  World, 

Reclus. 
Humboldt's  Travels. 


164 


Books  for  the  Home. 

Religious  Literature. 

The  Bible.  Natural  Theology,  Paley. 

History  of  the  Christian  Church,  Analogy  of  Religion,  Butler. 

Fisher.  Christian  Ethics,  Newman  Smyth. 

History  of  the  Protestant  Reforma-  The  Perfect  Life,  Charming. 

tion,   D'Aubigne. 

Essays  and  Criticism. 

History  of  Literature,  Taine.  Poetry,  Comedy,  and  Duty,  Everett. 

Self  Help,  Smiles.  Macaulay's  Essays. 

Emerson's  Essays.  Principles    of    Literary    Criticism, 

Ethics  of  the  Dust,  Ruskin.  Stedrnan. 

Sketch  Book,  Irving.  Handbook  of  Poetics,  Gummere. 

Walden,  Thoreau. 

Poetry  and.    Drama. 

Paradise  Lost,  Milton.  The  Divine  Comedy,  Dante. 

Hamlet,  Twelfth  Night,  Comedy  of  Goethe's  Faust. 

Errors,  Merchant  of  Venice,  Mac-  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  Homer, 

beth,  Julius  Cfesar,   Midsummer  Browning,  Tennyson,  Whittier, 
Night's  Dream,  Shakespeare.  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Poe. 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  Scott. 

Conduct  and  Fine  Arts. 

Ethics  for  Young  People,  Everett.  History  of  Art,  Von  Reber. 

Conduct  as  a  Fine  Art,  Gilman.  Esthetics,  Bascom. 

Manners  and  Social  Customs,  Slier-  The  Beautiful  and  the  Sublime, 

wood.  Burke. 
History  of  Music,  Hunt. 

Science  and  Politics. 

The  Human  Body,  Martin.  Chemistry,  Remsen. 

Descriptive  Botany,  Bessey  or  Gray.  Recreation  in  Astronomy,  Warren. 

Birds  of  North  America,  Audubon.  Political  Economy,  Walker.  • 

Voyages  of  a  Naturalist,  Darwin.  Sociology,  Giddings. 

AValks  and  Talks  in  the  Geological  History  of  Civilization,  Guizot. 
Field,  Wmchell. 

165 


Books  for  the  Home, 


Periodical  Literature. 

Youth's  Companion,  St.  Nicholas, 
Harper's  Round  Table,  Ladies' 
Home  Journal,  Public  Opinion, 
Review  of  Reviews,  Outing,  Cen- 
tury Magazine,  Harper's  Maga- 
zine,Scribner's  Magazine,  English 


Illustrated  Magazine,  Nineteenth 
Century,  North  American  Re- 
view, Forum,  Popular  Science 
Monthly,  The  Art  Amateur,  The 
Magazine  of  Art,  The  Decorator 
and  Furnisher. 


166 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN. 


Music  in  the  Home. 


UStC  is  not  a  luxury  for  the  few,  but  a  form  of 
art  that  gives  pleasure  to  the  many.    Accord- 
ing to  Shakespeare 


"  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils." 

It  is  not  to  be  measured  by  money  values  any  more 
than  love  and  smiles  and  kind  words  are  to  be  gotten  and 
given  for  dollars.  It  is  not  merely  a  matter  of  aesthetics 
but  of  ethics,  and  both  as  a  moral  force  and  as  an  aesthetic 
art  it  should  be  cultivated  in  the  home. 

"  Music  is  the  universal  language  of  mankind."  An 
American  or  an  Englishman  may  attend  a  church  service 
in  Germany,  France,  or  Italy,  and  understand  no  word  of 
the  sermon,  but  the  music  reaches  his  heart,  for  it  is  in 
the  language  of  the  soul,  and  that  is  independent  of  words. 

Music  is  more  than  the  universal  language  of  man- 
kind, it  appeals  to  the  lower  animals  as  well.  Ruskin  long 
ago  observed  :  "  Brutes  can  enjoy  music.  Mice  are  thrown 

167 


Music  in  the  Home, 

into  raptures  by  it.  Horses  are  powerfully  excited  by  the 
trumpet  and  may  be  taught  to  dance  in  excellent  time." 
Elephants  and  even  serpents  are  susceptible  to  the  power 
of  music,  and  all  have  observed  how  a  tune  whistled  or 
sung  will  awaken  the  sweetest  carols  of  the  canary. 

This  universal  language  should,  then,  be  cultivated  in 
the  home.  Animals  are  not  moved  by  architecture  or 
painting  or  sculpture.  A  horse  is  indifferent  to  the  noblest 
building,  it  means  less  to  him  than  a  barn.  Most  children 
must  learn  to  appreciate  the  more  superficial  arts,  but  some 
appreciation  of  music  is  inborn,  and  the  possibilities  of 
its  cultivation  are  boundless. 

lyl  USIC  is  not  a  mere  ornament,  it  is  an  educative 
V-.  power.  Plato  taught  that  as  gymnastic  exercise 
is  necessary  to  keep  the  body  healthy,  so  musical  exercise 
is  necessary  to  keep  the  soul  healthy  ;  and  that  the  proper 
nourishment  of  the  intellect  and  emotions  can  no  more  take 
place  without  music  than  the  proper  functions  of  the 
stomach  and  the  blood  without  exercise.  Dr.  Dogiel,  a  Rus- 
sian professor,  has  experimented  with  an  instrument  called 
the  pletismograph,  for  examining  the  circulation  of  blood  in 
man.  His  discoveries  of  the  effects  of  music  on  the  blood, 
the  muscles,  and  nerves  of  man  and  the  lower  animals 
open  up  a  wonderful  field  of  possible  uses  for  music.  He 
says  :  "  Music  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  means  of 
educating  children.  *  *  *  If  sciences  are  necessary  for 

168 


Music  in  the  Home. 

the  development  of  the  intellect,  the  arts,  painting  and 
music,  particularly,  are  necessary  for  the  education  of 
our  feelings."  Music  develops  in  youths,  imperceptibly  to 
themselves,  a  certain  harmony  of  feelings,  a  softening  of 
the  strong  animal  passions,  and  thus  ennobles  them  and 
creates  a  love  for  everything  beautiful.  Ruskin  declared 
music  to  be  "the  most  effective  of  all  instruments  of 
moral  education." 

/V  FATHER,  whose  children  were  remarkable  for 
V-,  cheerfulness  and  amiability,  was  asked  the  secret 
of  his  success  in  training  them.  He  replied  :  "  When 
anything  disturbs  their  temper  I  say  to  them,  'sing,'  and 
if  I  hear  them  speak  against  any  person  I  call  them  to 
sing  to  me  ;  and  so  they  have  sung  away  all  cause  of 
discontent  and  disposition  to  scandal." 

Think  over  the  families  you  have  known  ;  single  out 
those  who  cultivated  music  in  the  home ;  and  you  will  find 
that  in  those  homes  there  was  a  refinement,  a  gentleness  of 
tone  and  manner,  which  gave  them  a  superiority  to  many 
others  of  even  higher  social  position.  They  were  not 
musical  because  they  were  gentle  and  refined,  but  they 
were  gentle  and  refined  because  they  were  musical.  Those 
people,  by  the  cultivation  of  music,  came  to  have  an 
habitual  shrinking  from  discord  of  any  kind. 

Music  is  a  medicine  for  the  temper.  Many  a  mother 
almost  distracted  with  the  care  of  a  fretful  child  can  make 

169 


Music  in  the  Home. 

no  better  investment  of  a  little  time  than  to  go  to  the  piano 
and  play  a  few  simple  airs  ;  at  first  something  soft  and 
plaintive,  then  gradually  brightening  and  quickening  the 
music.  It  will  not  only  help  the  child  but  the  mother  will 
be  surprised  to  find  how  her  own  nerves  have  been  soothed 
and  rested.  The  shadows  are  gone,  the  sunshine  is  come. 
Not  only  babes  but  adults  can  sometimes  be  conquered  by 
music.  When  Napoleon  exploded  into  one  of  his  ungov- 
ernable furies,  Josephine  was  wont  to  play  to  him  one  sim- 
ple but  beautiful  air  which  always  soothed  and  pacified 
him. 

When  the  father  has  returned  home  weary  from  the 
manual  or  mental  toil  of  the  day,  why  should  not  the  chil- 
dren, if  they  can  play  or  sing,  brighten  the  evening  hours 
with  music  ?  Memories  of  these  evenings  will  lighten  the 
toil  of  the  following  day.  Music  is  not  merely  for  show 
and  company.  The  father  whose  evenings  and  Sundays 
are  cheered  by  music  either  vocal  or  instrumental  will  feel 
that  he  has  made  a  good  investment  of  his  money  in  pro- 
viding musical  instruction  for  his  children. 

Those  who  can  play  or  sing  should  be  forever  done 
with  silly  excuses  and  simpering  hesitation.  When  friends 
want  music  give  it  as  graciously  as  you  would  grant 
any  other  favor.  Forget  self  and  simply  do  your  best. 
Excuses  spoil  the  music  before  it  is  rendered. 


170 


Music  in  the  Home. 

I  HOSE  who  have  some  musical  ability  are  under  a 

V  sacred  obligation  to  cultivate  the  gift  by  persever- 
ing, painstaking  practice.  The  world  is  full  of  discords,  and 
he  who  can  introduce  one  more  element  of  harmony  is  a 
benefactor  of  the  race.  So  also  is  he  who  can  put  in  a 
song  where  there  was  but  a  sad  silence. 

One  of  the  sweetest  memories  I  know  is  that  of  the 
work  of  a  band  of  little  girls  who  each  week  visited  the 
sick  and  aged,  bringing  flowers  and  song.  Long  after  the 
flowers  faded  and  their  fragrance  was  gone  the  melody 
of  the  sweet  voices  lingered  in  the  hearts  and  homes 
visited. 

It  is  observable  that  not  only  are  musical  families  har- 
monious in  their  relations  but  there  is  a  strength  of  attach- 
ment among  their  members  which  is  not  usually  found 
elsewhere.  Musical  notes  as  threads  of  silk  and  chains  of 
gold  have  been  silently  binding  those  hearts  together. 

Partings  may  come  but  attachments  continue.  Mu- 
sical memories  are  independent  of  time  and  space.  Dis- 
tance or  duration  does  not  weaken  the  power  of  music  in 
the  home. 


171 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN. 


Evenings  at    Home. 


x   IT    —  ' 

(^  I   HE  evening  hours  are  the  holy  hours  of  home  life. 

i  I       They  are  the  hours  in  which  there  is  the  freest  play 

-*—    of  all  the  hallowed  influences  that  come  from  the 

domestic  relation  ;  the  hours  in  which  the  radiant  forces  of 

the    home    are    focalized    and    brought    to    their    highest 

efficiency. 

There  is  really  just  as  much  sunshine  on  a  cloudy  day 
as  when  the  sky  is  clear,  but  the  sickly  growth  of  vegeta- 
tion during  cloudy  weather  proclaims  its  ineffectiveness. 
So  the  home  may  exert  just  as  much  actual  influence  when 
its  sunshine  is  intercepted  by  the  clouds  of  care  and  busy 
toil;  when  the  merciless  dispatch  with  which  "father's" 
dinner  must  be  prepared,  or  with  which  some  of  those 
many  labors  inseparably  connected  with  the  home  life  must 
be  performed,  has  so  absorbed  the  time  and  energy  of  the 
family  that  each  member  seems  to  be  an  illustration  of  the 
"survival  of  the  fittest." 

Under  these  circumstances  the  home  may  send  forth  as 
large  an  amount  of  influence,  and  yet  such  influence  can- 

172 


Evenings  at  Home. 

not  reach  the  lives  and  characters  of  those  who  have  a 
claim  upon  it.  Such  may  be  called  latent  influence. 

It  is  only  when  the  "day  is  done  "  that  home  exhibits 
its  sweetest  and  serenest  life.  It  is  when  the  sun  has  gone 
down  that  the  home  influences  become  actual  and  potent. 

In  opening  the  tender  buds  of  young  characters,  the 
light  from  the  hearthstone  is  far  more  efficient  than  the 
sunlight. 

I  HE  distinctive  characteristics  of  the  home  life  are 

^  manifested  most  strongly  when  the  labors  of  the 
day  are  ended  and  the  family  gather  round  the  fireside  for 
the  evening.  One  hour  of  evening  home  life  is  worth  a 
month  of  the  ordinary  daily  experience.  It  matters  little 
where  our  days  are  spent  if  we  spend  our  evenings  at 
home. 

Man's  soul  is  not  receptive  during  the  day,  for  its  atti- 
tude is  not  favorable.  The  labor  of  the  day  puts  the  mind 
into  that  attitude  in  which  it  resists  the  shaping  influences 
of  life.  Labor  itself  is  in  part  a  process  of  spiritual  resist- 
ance, so  that  the  soul  that  toils  is  comparatively  safe  from 
the  snares  of  temptation. 

During  the  hours  of  labor  we  are  less  susceptible  to 
good  influences  as  well  as  to  evil  ones.  The  whole  being 
puts  itself  upon  the  defensive  while  it  toils.  Satisfied 
with  its  own  condition,  it  refuses  to  be  changed  by  outward 

173 


Evenings  at  Home. 

influences.  In  this  principle  we  find  the  explanation  of 
the  adage,  "Idleness  is  the  parent  of  vice."  The  evening 
is  the  hour  when  crafty  Satan  preaches  most  eloquently. 
It  is  also  the  hour  at  which  he  can  gather  the  largest  and 
most  attentive  audience.  In  our  great  cities  Satan's 
churches  are  crowded  every  evening. 


,  fortunately,  the  evening  hour  is  also  the  hour  in 
which  the  good  angel  can  gather  his  largest  audi- 
ence, and  he  who  would  baffle  Satan's  influence  must 
preach  in  the  evening.  The  evening  is  the  hour  when  the 
protecting  power  of  home  is  greatest ;  it  is  the  hour  when 
its  protection  is  most  needed.  We  see  a  divine  wisdom  in 
this.  The  only  hour  in  the  day  when  the  laboring  young 
man  is  vulnerable  to  temptation  is  when  his  labor  is  ended 
and  his  mind  relaxed ;  and  just  at  this  needed  hour  the 
home  exerts  a  doubled  influence.  Parents  need  not  be  at 
all  anxious  concerning  the  character  of  their  boys  who  from 
choice  stay  at  home  of  an  evening,  but  they  should  never 
feel  at  ease  concerning  those  who  desire  to  spend  their 
evenings  away  from  home. 

We  do  not  mean  that  children  should  never  go  away 
from  home  in  the  evening.  The  evening  is  a  very  proper 
and  agreeable  time  to  visit  our  neighbors,  and  children 
should  be  allowed  frequently  to  spend  the  evening  with 
their  neighbors'  children.  This  is  only  a  transfer  of  home 

174 


Evenings  at  Home. 

influence.  They  are  at  home  in  one  sense  when  at  their 
neighbors'  home,  or  at  least  they  are  surrounded  by  home 
influences. 

It  is  an  excellent  practice  to  allow  children,  even  when 
very  young,  to  visit  their  neighbors'  children  alone  in  the 
evening.  The  reason  of  this  may  not  at  first  be  obvious, 
but  we  think  that  upon  reflection  every  parent  will  per- 
ceive the  wisdom  of  it. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  a  mild  lesson  in  self-reliance  and 
independent  action,  which  every  parent  should  try  to 
develop  in  the  minds  of  his  children. 

Again,  all  children  who  are  to  develop  into  noble  men 
and  women  must  sooner  or  later  be  brought  into  contact 
with  temptations  to  every  form  of  improper  action,  and 
the  earlier  this  process  commences,  and  the  more  gradually 
they  encounter  the  temptations  of  life,  the  better  for  their 
welfare.  And,  certainly,  sending  children  to  their  neigh- 
bors' alone  in  the  evening,  thus  putting  them  upon  their 
own  sense  of  propriety,  and  subjecting  them  to  the  little 
temptations  to  trifling  breaches  of  etiquette,  which  always 
present  themselves  when  young  children  gather  in  groups, 
is  one  of  the  most  judicious  methods  of  applying  this  prin- 
ciple. It  is  not  well  for  parents  in  such  cases  to  be  over- 
strict  in  regard  to  the  hour  of  the  children's  return.  It  is 
far  better  to  teach  them  to  exercise  their  own  sense  of  pro- 
priety in  this  matter. 

Let  them  be  taught  that  it  is  a  gross  breach  of  good 

175 


Evenings  at  Home. 

manners  to  stay  much  beyond  a  certain  hour,  perhaps  nine 
o'clock. 

But  this  is  far  different  in  its  effect  from  commanding 
them  to  start  when  the  clock  strikes  nine.  In  the  one  case 
they  are  compelled  to  go  home  by  an  inward  sense  of  pro- 
priety, and  in  the  other  by  an  outward  sense  of  authority. 
It  is  always  a  cross  for  children  to  leave  their  playmates, 
and  if  they  can  just  as  well  be  taught  to  make  this  sacrifice 
through  their  own  sense  of  propriety,  their  parents  should 
certainly  rejoice  in  this  early  opportunity  to  give  them  a 
practical  lesson  in  self-denial.  If  the  child  is  compelled  by 
an  outward  authority  located  at  home,  to  withdraw  from  a 
pleasant  associate,  he  is  quite  likely  to  conceive  a  dislike 
for  that  authority  and  for  the  place  toward  which  it  con- 
strains him. 

Then  let  the  children  visit.  Let  the  parents  visit  in 
the  evenings.  Let  all  the  members  of  the  family  feel  that 
the  home  is  not  a  prison.  This  is  the  only  way  in  which 
children  can  be  taught  to  love  home  and  to  feel  that  home 
is  the  best  place  to  spend  their  evenings.  You  cannot 
make  them  feel  this  by  compelling  them  to  stay  at  home 
evenings.  If  a  child  has  acquired  a  distaste  for  home,  the 
evil  must  be  corrected  by  the  use  of  mild  stratagem. 

I  1NE  of  the  strongest  arguments  for  the  habit  of  spend- 
ing the  evenings  at  home  is  found  in  the  opportunity 
which  they  offer  to  the  young  for  self-improvement. 

170 


Evenings  at  Home. 

Horace  Mann  once  wrote  a  beautiful  truth  in  the  form 
of  an  advertisement,  "Lost,  yesterday,  somewhere  between 
sunrise  and  sunset,  two  golden  hours,  each  set  with  sixty 
diamond  minutes.  No  reward  is  offered,  for- they  are  gone 
forever." 

We  would  like  to  have  the  ordinary  young  man  of 
twenty-five  look  over  our  shoulder  while  we  do  a  little  fig- 
uring. We  mean  that  young  man,  however,  who  is  always 
complaining  because  he  hasn't  time. 

We  mean  that  young  man  who  is  mourning  because  he 
hasn't  an  education,  who  would  have  gone  to  college  could 
he  have  spared  the  time. 

We  want  to  show  him  how  many  of  those  golden  hours 
set  with  diamond  minutes  he  has  thrown  away  since  he 
was  sixteen  years  old.  It  is  nine  years  since  then,  and  in 
each  of  those  years  there  were  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
evenings.  Setting  aside  the  fifty-two  Sunday  evenings, 
which,  however,  might  be  employed  to  advantage  without 
violating  the  fourth  commandment,  then  taking  out  fifty- 
two  evenings  more,  one  for  every  week,  for  visiting  and 
entertaining  visitors,  there  will  remain  two  hundred  and 
sixty-one.  Now  each  one  of  these  two  hundred  and  sixty- 
one  evenings  contains  four  of  those  golden  hours.  Hence 
in  one  year  he  throws  away  one  thousand  and  forty-four 
hours.  During  the  nine  years  from  sixteen  to  twenty-five, 
he  throws  away  nine  times  this  number,  or  nine  thousand 
three  hundred  and  ninety-six  hours. 

177 


Evenings  at  Home. 

Just  think  of  it.  The  average  college  student  spends 
about  four  hours  a  day  in  study.  There  are  five  days  in  a 
week  in  which  he  studies,  making  twenty  hours  a  week. 
Thirty-eight  weeks  constitute  the  college  year,  making 
seven  hundred  and  sixty  hours  which  he  studies  in  a  year. 

There  are  four  years  in  the  college  course.  Hence  in 
his  whole  course  he  studies  four  times  seven  hundred  and 
sixty,  or  three  thousand  and  forty  hours.  This  is  less  than 
a  third  as  many  as  the  young  man  may  throw  away 
between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and  twenty -five.  Should  not 
every  such  young  man  feel  indignant  with  himself  ?  Time 
enough  spent  on  the  street  corners,  in  the  stores,  in  the 
hotel,  or  in  the  bar  room,  to  go  through  college  three  times. 
Nine  thousand  golden  hours  gemmed  with  five  hundred 
and  forty  thousand  diamond  minutes,  gone  forever. 

Perhaps  it  may  seem  even  cruel  in  us  to  remind  the 
young  man  of  his  terrible  loss,  but  it  is  never  too  late  to  do 
better.  A  noble  endeavor  can  never  be  too  early  or  too 
late.  We  would  not  cause  any  young  man  a  useless  pain- 
ful regret.  He  cannot  profit  by  mourning  over  spilt  milk, 
but  if  he  will  keep  his  pan  right  side  up  for  five  years  to 
come  he  can  go  through  college  yet,  and  graduate  when  he 
is  thirty  years  old,  and  have  the  honor  of  presenting  to 
himself  his  own  diploma. 


Evenings  at  Home. 

not  alone  for  the  opportunities  for  culture  which 
they  afford  are  evenings  to  be  prized.  The  evening 
in  the  happy  home  is  a  fragment  of  heaven.  We  cannot 
afford  to  lose  it.  The  ineffable  joy  that  human  nature  is 
constituted  to  experience  at  the  evening  hour  around  the 
golden  altar  of  home,  is  a  symbol  and  a  prophecy  of  that 
which  every  harmoniously  developed  soul  has  reason  to 
believe  is  in  store  for  him.  It  is  the  only  place  where  each 
and  every  faculty  and  power  of  mind  and  body  may  legiti- 
mately act,  and  with  that  divine  spontaneity  that  feels  no 
pressure  nor  restraint.  When  reason  acts  through  the  day 
it  is  spurred  to  action  by  the  necessities  of  daily  duty,  and 
the  pleasure  which  all  organic  activity,  both  mental  and 
physical,  is  intended  to  produce  is  lost  in  the  mad  whirl  of 
life's  tumultuous  conflict.  The  same  is  true  of  that  innate, 
tendency  to  mathematical  computation  which  is  capable  of 
conferring  so  much  pleasure  by  the  revelations  it  gives  of 
the  universality  of  divine  law  and  order.  But  when  these 
powers  act  amid  the  cheerfulness  of  the  evening  entertain- 
ment at  home,  in  the  playful  solution  of  problems  and 
puzzles,  they  act  with  a  spontaneity  and  accompanying 
pleasure  on  their  own  account  which  hint  at  their  origin 
and  their  destiny. 

This  same  principle  applies  to  every  power  of  being. 
Who  does  not  still  carry  in  his  mind  the  sweet  pictures  of 
happy  evenings  at  home,  when  all  the  family  sat  by  the 
fire,  mother  with  her  knitting,  and  father  with  his  stories  of 

179 


Evenings  at  Home. 

prouder  days,  while  the  kitten  gamboled  upon  the  floor  or 
played  with  the  ball  of  yarn  that  fell  from  mother's  lap, 
and  while  the  fire  light  moved  upon  the  wall  like  the  wav- 
ing of  a  white  wing  in  the  darkness, —  as  if  heaven  could 
not  permit  so  much  joy  upon  the  earth  without  having  its 
representative  there  ?  Now  mother  tardily  rises  to  light 
the  lamp,  and  the  children  gather  round  the  table  with 
slate  and  pencil  to  grapple  with  those  little  tasks  and 
problems  that  only  sweeten  life's  remembrances. 

How  indelibly  through  all  the  change-freighted  years 
this  picture  remains  upon  the  canvas  of  the  soul.  Unlike 
the  perishing  works  of  genius,  time  never  bleaches  the 
canvas  nor  turns  the  picture  pale.  Gaze  on  that  picture, 
O  youth.  Nor  turn  your  eyes  aside  when  Temptation 
with  perfumed  robes  sweeps  past  thee  in  the  tumultuous 
rush  of  beauty's  carnival.  When  we  turn  our  eyes  from 
the  soft  colors  of  a  beautiful  picture,  to  gaze  upon  the 
brilliancy  of  the  electric  light,  and  then  turn  again  to  view 
the  picture,  how  dim  the  colors,  how  blurred  is  the  whole 
picture  till  we  have  steadily  and  persistently  gazed  for  a 

long  time. 

y 

t.RN  a  lesson  from  the  analogy  that  exists  between 
the  spirit's  eye  and  that  of  the  body.     That  sweet 
picture  of  your  home,  O  youth,  gleams  not  brilliantly  but 
softly  and  forever  in  the  evening  fire  light.     Reflect  long 
before  you  turn  your  eyes  from  its  images  and  your  heart 

180 


Evenings  at  Home. 

from  its  solaces  to  gaze  upon  the  seemingly  more  resplen- 
dent pictures  to  which  the  truant  spirit  leads. 

"  Gladly  now  we  gather  round  it, 

For  the  toiling  day  is  done, 
And  the  gray  and  solemn  twilight 

Follows  down  the  golden  sun. 
Shadows  lengthen  on  the  pavement, 

Stalk  like  giants  through  the  gloom, 
Wander  past  the  dusky  casement, 

Creep  around  the  fire-lit  room. 
Draw  the  curtain,  close  the  shutters, 

Place  the  slippers  by  the  fire  ; 
Though  the  rude  wind  loudly  mutters, 

What  care  we  for  wind  sprite's  ire? 

"  What  care  we  for  outward  seeming, 

Fickle  fortune's  frown  or  smile  ? 
If  around  us  love  is  beaming, 

Love  can  human  ills  beguile. 
'Neath  the  cottage  roof  and  palace, 

From  the  peasant  to  the  king, 
All  are  quaffing  from  life's  chalice 

Bubbles  that  enchantment  bring. 
Grates  are  glowing,  music  flowing 

From  the  lips  we  love  the  best ; 
O,  the  joy,  the  bliss  of  knowing 

There  are  hearts  whereon  to  rest ! 

"  Hearts  that  throb  with  eager  gladness  — 

Hearts  that  echo  to  our  own  — 
While  grim  care  and  haunting  sadness 
Mingle  ne'er  in  look  or  tone. 
181 


Evenings  at  Home. 

Care  may  tread  the  halls  of  daylight, 

Sadness  haunt  the  midnight  hour, 
But  the  weird  and  witching  twilight 

Brings  the  glowing  hearthstone's  dower. 
Altar  of  our  holiest  feelings  ! 

Childhood's  well-remembered  shrine  ! 
Spirit  yearnings  —  soul  revealings  — 

Wreaths  immortal  round  thee  twine  !  " 


182 


MOMENTS . 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN. 


Self    Culture. 


is  the  constant  elimination  of  useless 
movements,  physical  or  mental,  and  the  attain- 
ment of  increasing  economy  in  the  expendi- 
ture of  our  forces. 

The  Indian  has  plenty  of  strength,  but  the  white  man 
of  half  his  weight  and  strength,  who  has  acquired  the  art 
of  boxing,  is  more  than  a  match  for  him  ;  and  this  for  the 
simple  reason  that  the  Indian  has  not  yet  learned  to  elim- 
inate the  movements  that  do  not  count.  He  is  a  spend- 
thrift as  regards  forces.  But  the  white  man,  by  means  of 
patient  culture,  has  learned  to  omit  all  useless  movements, 
and  to  expend  his  forces  in  that  manner  and  at  that  time 
and  place  in  which  they  will  tell  the  most.  He  does  not 
bend  a  joint  or  contract  a  muscle  that  does  not  produce 
some  desirable  outward  result. 

It  is  easy  to  detect  an  uncultured  person  in  society  ;  for 
example,  when  he  attempts  to  walk  across  a  hall  or  draw- 
ing-room in  the  presence  of  spectators.  It  is  not  because 
he  does  not  perform  all  the  movements  necessary  to  take 
him  to  the  other  side,  but  because  he  performs  certain 

185 


Self  Culture. 

other  movements  that  interfere  with  or  obstruct  the  essen- 
tial movements  ;  such  as  the  turning  of  the  head  from  side 
to  side,  accompanied  by  a  wasteful  expenditure  of  thought 
in  the  form  of  a  painful  consciousness  that  people  are  gaz- 
ing at  him.  There  is  in  his  blush  a  wasteful  expenditure 
of  vital  forces  in  compelling  the  blood  to  the  surface.  All 
such  movements  are  uneconomical  because  they  produce 
no  desirable  or  useful  result.  Nature  has  agreed  to  give  us 
a  positive  dislike  for  all  such  movements,  and  we  call  them 
awkward.  She  has  also  made  us  susceptible  of  a  positive 
delight  from  witnessing  economical  movements,  and  at 
her  suggestion  we  call  them  graceful.  Graceful  move- 
ments, then,  are  simply  economical  movements.  If  the 
person  referred  to  should  walk  across  the  hall  with 
the  least  possible  expenditure  of  vital  and  mental  force, 
the  movement  would  necessarily  be  graceful. 

Civilization  is  but  aggregate  culture,  and  since  culture 
is  the  spirit  and  essence  of  economy,  we  see  why  it  is  that 
the  science  of  political  economy  has  always  developed 
itself  simultaneously  with  civilization.  Indeed,  civiliza- 
tion and  political  economy  are  necessarily  reciprocal. 

3 UGH,  then,  is  the  nature  of  culture  in  the  abstract. 
Let  us  follow  out  the  principle  in  its  application  to 
our  physical,  mental,  and  moral  natures,  and  see  whether 
we  can  find  in  it  anything  that  shall  be  of  use  to  us  in  the 
development  of  our  lives  and  characters. 

186 


Self  Culture. 

Our  muscles  are  cultured  when  we  can  use  them 
with  no  waste  of  force.  Our  intellects  are  cultured  when 
we  can  solve  a  problem  or  arrive  at  a  conclusion  by 
the  shortest  and  most  direct  route  of  logical  deduction. 
Our  moral  nature  is  cultured  when  duty  becomes  a  grace- 
ful and  economical  movement  in  the  soul ;  when  the  use- 
less movements  of  sin  are  eliminated  ;  when  all  our  spirit- 
ual forces  are  concentrated ;  when  the  good  that  we  do, 
the  graces  we  exhibit,  our  acts  of  abnegation,  condolence, 
sympathy,  charity,  and  love  rise  without  debate  —  spon- 
taneous from  the  soul ;  when  we  can  say,  "  Thy  will  be 
done,"  without  a  diverting  and  wasting  struggle  with 
ourselves. 

The  reason  why  certain  men  have  been  able  to  accom- 
plish such  wonderful  results  in  the  field  of  thought  and 
investigation  is  because,  through  long  toil  and  patient  cul- 
ture, they  have  learned  to  concentrate  the  mental  forces  by 
eliminating  all  useless  thoughts.  Like  the  bee,  which 
always  takes  a  straight  line,  they  have  acquired  an  intel- 
lectual instinct  by  which  they  are  enabled  to  take  the 
shortest,  directest,  and  consequently  most  economical  line 
of  logic  links  between  their  intellectual  standpoint  and  the 
solution  that  they  crave.  And  he  who  can  do  this,  he  who 
can  take  the  shortest  road,  can  surely  go  farther  and 
accomplish  more  in  the  same  time  than  he  who  is  com- 
pelled to  hunt  out  his  path,  to  travel  through  all  the  by- 
ways, the  briers,  the  brambles,  and  the  underbrush,  and  at 

187 


Self  Culture. 

last,  perhaps,  lose  his  way  altogether  in  the  vast  swamp  of 
intellectual  uncertainty. 

rV  LL  culture  in  its  ultimate  analysis  is  necessarily  self 
V-  culture.  Culture  when  used  as  a  verb  predicates 
the  affording  of  conditions  for  self -direction  or  self -develop- 
ment. If  we  attempt  to  culture  a  horse  or  a  dog  we  accom- 
plish the  result  only  by  inducing  him  to  make  certain  vol- 
untary movements  in  the  direction  of  our  will.  But  if  he 
does  not  choose  to  act  according  to  our  will,  all  culture 
ceases  until  he  becomes  willing  to  obey.  We  cannot  cul- 
ture anything  that  has  the  power  of  volition.  Hence,  when 
we  break  a  colt,  or  train  a  dog,  he  cultures  himself  at  our 
suggestion.  And  thus  it  is  that  all  the  culture  we  receive 
in  this  life  must  be  self  culture.  Teachers  may  suggest, 
but  we  must  execute  ;  they  may  advise,  but  we  must  do  the 
work. 

I  HE  sense  in  which  we  have  used  the  word  "culture  " 
^  is  not  very  different  from  that  in  which  we  have 
used  the  word  "  education"  in  the  chapter  on  the  "Educa- 
tion of  Our  Boys."  Indeed,  all  that  we  have  said  by  way 
of  definition  in  either  chapter  might  have  been  said  with 
equal  propriety  in  the  other.  We  will  allow  the  one  to 
supplement  the  other. 

The  words  educate,  train,  and  culture  are,  for  all  prac- 

188 


Self  Culture. 

tical  purposes,  synonymous,  and  may  be  used  interchange- 
ably. 

In  our  chapter  on  "  Home  Training "  we  have  pre- 
sented some  similar  thoughts  concerning  the  importance  of 
training  or  cultivating  the  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral 
nature  in  the  proper  order,  and  in  the  right  way.  That, 
however,  was  intended  chiefly  for  advice  to  parents  con- 
cerning the  management  of  children  too  young  to  attempt 
self  culture.  But  the  primary  constitution  does  not 
change.  What  the  child  requires,  the  youth  and  young 
man  require,  only,  perhaps,  in  larger  quantities  and  in  dif- 
ferent proportion.  Hence  in  this  chapter  we  shall  aim  to 
give  such  helpful  advice  as  will  enable  young  men  and 
women  to  continue  the  process  that  their  parents  helped 
them  to  begin.  They  may  now  call  it  self  culture,  to 
denote  a  higher  stage  of  the  same  process. 

The  first  and  chief  aim  of  self  culture,  as  of  all  educa- 
tion, should  be  symmetry.  The  undue  strengthening  of 
one  part  or  faculty,  to  the  neglect  of  another,  is  not  cul- 
ture, but  according  to  our  definition  it  is  the  reverse,  for  it 
destroys  that  power  of  co-ordinate  action  and  economical 
expenditure  of  effort  in  which  culture  consists.  No  power 
of  mind  or  body  exists  independent  of  other  powers,  and 
so  cannot  be  unduly  strengthened  without  peril  to  the 
other  and  weaker  ones. 

If  the  stomach  be  enlarged  by  over-eating,  while  the 
lungs  be  kept  weak  and  small,  the  whole  body  will  become 

189 


Self  Culture. 

diseased  and  the  mind  also  ;  for  a  sound  mind  cannot  exist 
in  an  unhealthy  body.  The  stomach,  being  large,  will 
crave  a  large  amount  of  food,  but  the  lungs,  being  small, 
cannot  furnish  oxygen  enough  to  oxidize  the  carbon  that  is 
furnished  to  the  blood  by  the  stomach  ;  so  the  system 
becomes  clogged  ;  corrupt  and  troublesome  ulcers  appear, 
and  perhaps  consumption,  and  all  because  the  stomach  was 
enlarged.  Not  because  the  lungs  were  not  cultivated, 
but  because  the  stomach  was  cultivated  alone,  as  if  it  were 
an  independent  organ. 

Similar  disasters  follow  the  independent  and  separate 
training  of  any  of  the  other  physical  powers.  If  the 
stomach,  the  appetite,  the  lungs,  the  liver,  the  kidneys,  the 
circulation,  the  skin,  and  the  muscles  be  all  cultivated  to- 
gether, the  more  they  are  cultivated  the  better.  It  is  abso- 
lutely impossible  to  carry  that  kind  of  culture  to  excess. 
But  if  we  cannot  cultivate  all,  it  is  far  better  not  to  specially 
cultivate  any  of  the  physical  functions. 

I T  is  a  well-known  fact  that  circus  performers  are  very 
short  lived ;  and  yet  we  would  naturally  expect  them 
to  live  to  a  very  old  age.  How  full  and  powerful  their 
lungs  are  !  How  agile  they  are  !  How  almost  marvelous 
the  strength  of  their  muscles  !  How  erect  they  are  !  What 
free  play  all  the  internal  organs  must  have  !  They  are 
compelled  by  their  employment  to  live  temperately  ;  their 
food  is  that  which  is  recommended  by  the  highest  medical 

190 


Self  Culture. 

authority  ;  they  sleep  in  well  ventilated  rooms.  It  would 
seem  that  if  earthly  immortality  were  possible,  the  profes- 
sional gymnasts  should  possess  the  boon. 

But,  instead,  the  average  duration  of  their  lives  is  very 
short.  How  shall  we  account  for  this  paradox  ?  Simply 
by  that  principle  just  named,  which  demands  the  symmet- 
rical and  proportionate  development  of  all  the  functions. 
They  carry  training  of  the  muscles  to  such  an  extent,  that, 
like  wasting  fire,  they  consume  their  vitality.  In  spite  of 
all  hygienic  regimen  and  temperance,  their  training  is  not 
symmetrical,  although  it  may  appear  to  be  such. 

The  human  body  is  a  delicate  machine,  and  no  wheel 
can  be  made  to  turn  faster  or  slower  than  it  was  intended 
to  turn  without  tearing  off  the  cogs.  But  it  is  often  found 
that  in  the  same  individual  certain  vital  organs  even  with- 
out special  culture  are  larger  and  more  powerful  than 
others,  and  this  is  doubtless  the  reason  why  many  appar- 
ently healthy  people  die  young.  It  is  because  they  are 
born  with  some  of  the  vital  organs  powerfully  developed, 
while  others  are  weak,  and  the  strong  ones  consume  the 
vitality  that  the  weak  ones  have  not  the  energy  to 
appropriate. 

It  should  be  the  first  object  of  culture  to  balance  the 
powers  by  cultivating  the  weak  and  restraining  the  over- 
action  of  the  strong.  After  this  most  desirable  result  has 
been  secured,  all  the  functions  should  be  trained  alike,  and 
the  whole  carried  to  the  highest  possible  state  of  culture.  It 

191 


Self  Culture. 

is  usually  an  easy  matter  to  ascertain  what  organs  of  the 
body  are  weak  and  what  strong,  but,  in  case  the  facts  are 
not  obvious,  a  physician  should  be  consulted,  who  should 
be  requested  to  test  all  the  vital  organs ;  not  to  doctor 
them,  but  to  measure  their  strength. 

If  the  brain  and  nervous  system  are  predominant, 
much  muscular  exercise  should  be  taken,  while  the  mental 
powers,  and  especially  the  imagination,  should  be  restrained. 
If  the  reverse  is  true,  the  brain  should  be  forced  to  act,  and 
the  tendency  to  muscular  action  should  be  held  in  check. 
If  the  muscles  are  stronger  than  the  framework  of  the 
body,  then  great  care  should  be  used  not  to  exercise  the 
muscles  to  their  full  extent,  for  such  a  practice  would  be 
sure  to  strain  the  body  and  injure  the  vital  organs.  This 
condition  is  oftener  seen  in  women  than  in  men  ;  hence 
women  frequently  injure  themselves  by  lifting.  If  the 
muscles  are  weaker  than  the  framework,  then  little  injury 
can  result  from  the  full  and  unrestrained  use  of  the 
muscles. 

But  Nature  is  very  kind  to  those  who  are  too  ignorant 
to  ascertain  their  own  weaknesses.  She  has  so  constituted 
us  that  the  best  and  most  useful  form  of  exercise  is  that  of 
walking  or  running.  And  that  is  just  the  kind  of  exercise 
that  the  necessities  of  life  compel  us  to  take  the  most  of. 
This  form  of  exercise  actually  has  a  tendency  to  balance 
the  organic  developments,  for  it  brings  into  action  every 
organ  of  the  body,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  benefit  the 

193 


Self  Culture. 

weak  ones  relatively  more  than  the  strong  ones.  For 
instance,  if  the  lungs  are  weak  and  the  muscles  strong, 
then  the  lungs  will  be  the  first  to  say  stop  ;  and  they  will 
say  so  just  at  that  moment  when  they  have  received  the 
greatest  possible  amount  of  good  from  the  running. 

The  lungs  will  have  received  just  enough  exercise  to 
do  them  good  long  before  the  muscles  have  had  enough  to 
test  their  endurance,  or  to  strengthen  them  much.  If  the 
muscles  are  weak  and  the  lungs  strong,  then  the  muscles 
will  control  the  amount  of  running,  and  adapt  it  to  their 
own  particular  needs.  Long  before  the  lungs  have 
received  exercise  enough  to  do  them  much  good,  the  mus- 
cles will  have  received  just  enough  to  do  them  the  greatest 
possible  amount  of  good.  Thus  we  see  how  it  is  that  run- 
ning is  the  best  exercise  in  the  world,  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  relieves  us  of  the  responsibility  of  ascertaining 
which  are  our  weak  organs,  for  it  will  pick  them  out  for 
us  and  make  them  strong.  People  both  walk  and  run  far 
too  little.  It  is,  perhaps,  impossible  for  human  beings  or 
animals  to  be  born  with  all  their  organs  in  a  state  of  perfect 
balance,  and  running  seems  to  be  Nature's  means  of  bal- 
ancing them,  for  she  gives  the  young  of  all  animals,  the 
human  species  included,  an  irrepressible  impulse  to  run 
almost  continually,  and  during  that  age,  too,  in  which 
their  organs  are  most  easily  modified. 

As  a  rule,  children  need  no  other  physical  culture  than 
their  own  freedom.  A  child  in  the  woods  for  one  day  will 

193 


Self  Culture. 

do  more  in  the  direction  of  curing  an  organic   weakness 
than  all  the  doctors  of  Christendom. 

1 1  TE  have  spoken  thus  minutely  on  the  subject  of  phys- 

^  ical  culture  not  only  because  physical  culture  is  the 

basis  of  all    culture,  but  because  the   general   directions 

which  we  have  given  are  as  applicable  to  intellectual  and 

moral  culture  as  to  physical. 

Symmetry  is  the  one  idea  that  should  be  kept  promi- 
nently in  view  in  all  forms  of  culture.  But  the  laws  of 
the  mind  are  such  as  to  allow  considerable  margin  for  va- 
riety's sake.  One  need  not  be  equally  gifted  in  all  his  men- 
tal powers  in  order  to  be  symmetrical.  It  is  not  necessary 
that  he  be  able  with  equal  facility  to  play  the  violin 
and  calculate  an  eclipse.  He  may  be  born  with  such  a 
latent  talent  for  music  as  to  render  this  not  only  the  most 
pleasant  but  also  the  most  profitable  occupation  of  his  life, 
and  still  violate  no  essential  law  of  symmetry.  But  if  he 
possess  the  talent  to  such  a  degree  as  to  become  its  slave, 
while  his  whole  mental  energy  is  absorbed  by  the  one  pas- 
sion, and  he  is  left  to  feel  that  there  is  nothing  else  beside 
music  to  render  life  worth  living,  he  has  passed  the  limits 
which  the  law  of  variety  allows  him  and  has  become  unsym- 
metrical.  His  musical  faculty  should  be  restrained,  while 
other  faculties  should  be  called  to  the  front  and  compelled 
to  act. 

This  is  a  hard  task   anrl    one  which  is  not  very   fre- 


Self  Culture. 

quently  accomplished,  for  the  very  reason  that  the  diffi- 
culty itself  is  of  such  a  character  as  to  prevent  the  person 
from  seeing  things  in  their  true  light.  When  one  talks  to 
him  about  the  grandeur  of  science  and  the  beauties 
of  philosophy,  he  listens  with  impatience  to  such  foolish- 
ness. 

The  same  is  true  of  all  forms  of  disproportionate 
mental  development.  Nothing  but  a  knowledge  of  the 
mental  economy  will  enable  one,  under  these  circum- 
stances, to  see  himself  as  he  is.  When  one  looks  upon 
himself  from  the  standpoint  of  mental  science,  he  elimi- 
nates the  bias  of  his  own  feelings  resulting  from  his  strong- 
est tendencies,  and  sees  himself  as  others  see  him.  It  is 
very  often  the  case  that  one  can  be  made  to  see  his  own 
mental  defects  in  no  other  way  than  by  a  study  of  mental 
science. 

I  HERE  is  one  law  of  great  importance  that  should  not 
^  be  lost  sight  of  either  in  physical  or  mental  culture. 
It  is  the  law  of  periodicity.  It  is  in  recognition  of  this  law 
that  the  professional  gymnast  is  required  to  practice  at 
just  such  an  hour  each  day.  In  some  way  which  we  can- 
not fully  understand,  the  muscles  instinctively  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  conditions  of  periodical  activity,  so  that  when 
the  appointed  hour  arrives  it  finds  them  in  that  particular 
condition  which  enables  them  to  derive  the  greatest  possi- 
ble amount  of  good  from  a  given  amount  of  practice.  The 

195 


Self  Culture. 

law  operates  in  precisely  the  same  way  in  the  mental 
economy.  A  music  teacher  who  has  had  much  experience 
will  insist  that  the  pupil  practice  at  the  same  hour  each 
day. 

It  is  not  essential  that  we  should  advise  more  minutely 
with  reference  to  the  education  of  the  mental  powers, 
since  the  needed  advice  may  be  found  in  the  chapter 
devoted  expressly  to  that  subject. 


/y I  ORAL  culture  involves  no  different  principle  from 
V_  that  of  intellectual  culture,  and  the  cardinal  idea 
of  symmetry  is  as  applicable  to  this  form  as  to  the  two 
forms  we  have  already  considered.  The  same  is  true  of 
the  law  of  periodicity  ;  the  saint  who  prays  at  regular 
periods  will  grow  in  the  instinct  of  prayer  and  faith,  while 
he  who  prays  only  when  he  finds  it  convenient  will  find 
that  the  intervals  grow  constantly  wider.  It  is  necessary, 
however,  to  keep  constantly  in  mind  the  fact  that  the  only 
legitimate  condition  of  him  who  lays  claim  to  moral  cul- 
ture is  that  of  the  complete  supremacy  of  the  moral  senti- 
ments over  the  passions.  All  sin  originates  in  passional 
supremacy,  while  out  of  the  ceaseless  and  often  equal  con- 
flict between  the  moral  impulses  and  those  of  the  passions, 
grow  all  the  enigmas  of  human  conduct.  A  person  in 
whom  the  latter  condition  exists  will  remain  alike  to  his 
friends  and  foes  an  unsolved  problem.  He  will  be  both 

196 


Self  Culture. 

very  good  and  very  bad.  When  under  the  dominion  of  the 
excited  passions  he  may  be  a  fiend ;  but  an  hour  later  he 
may  be  a  saint.  The  saddest  condition  for  a  human  being 
is  that  in  which  the  passions  and  moral  sentiments  are  so 
equally  balanced  that  neither  can  gain  a  permanent  vic- 
tory over  the  other. 

When  the  moral  sentiments  and  the  passions  are  both 
predominant  at  intervals,  the  moral  sense  becomes  capri- 
cious and  cannot  be  depended  upon.  The  person  becomes 
distrustful  of  his  own  good  resolves,  and  his  character 
loses  all  stability  and  permanence.  Either  condition  is 
bad  enough,  but  on  the  whole  we  regard  the  relation  of 
equality  between  the  passions  and  the  morals  as  the  most 
dangerous  and  destructive. 

So  deplorable  is  this  condition  that  we  would  even 
regard  the  permanent  ascendency  of  the  passions  as  a 
lesser  evil. 

Such  a  condition  offers  little  hope  of  recovery,  for  the 
passions  and  moral  sentiments  both  grow  by  their  occa- 
sional victories,  the  one  as  fast  as  the  other,  and  both  are 
weakened  by  their  occasional  defeats,  the  one  as  much  as 
the  other. 

The  remedy  for  this  condition  is  to  make  the  intellect 
an  ally  for  the  conscience.  It  should  be  required  to  devise 
means  to  keep  the  passions  out  of  temptation.  When  the 
passions  are  not  aroused  by  the  presence  of  temptation, 
they  are  not  difficult  to  manage.  Ordinarily,  however, 

197 


Self  Culture. 

temptation  is  a  source  of  strength,  uniformly,  indeed,  if  it 
be  resisted.  But  this  condition  is  not  always  fulfilled,  and 
in  the  case  we  are  considering  it  is  almost  sure  not  to  be 
fulfilled.  The  intellect,  therefore,  should  see  that  tempta- 
tion is  never  allowed  to  be  present,  and  should  seek  those 
places,  occasions,  and  influences  that  appeal  to  the  morals. 
By  persisting  in  this  course  a  long  time  the  moral 
nature  will  gain  a  permanent  victory,  and  then  the  vigi- 
lant restraint  may  be  removed,  the  fetters  may  be  taken 
off  from  the  passions,  and  they  will  recognize  their 
master. 

"  When  gentle  twilight  sits 
On  day's  forsaken  throne, 
'Mid  the  sweet  hush  of  eventide, 
Muse  by  thyself  alone. 
And  at  the  time  of  rest 
Ere  sleep  asserts  its  power, 
Hold  pleasant  converse  with  thyself 
In  meditation's  bower. 

"  Motives  and  deeds  review 
By  memory's  truthful  glass, 
Thy  silent  self  the  only  judge 
And  critic  as  they  pass  ; 
And  if  thy  wayward  face 
Should  give  thy  conscience  pain, 
Resolve  with  energy  divine 
The  victory  to  gain. 


198 


Self  Culture. 

"  Drink  waters  from  the  fount 
That  in  thy  bosom  springs, 
And  envy  not  the  mingled  draught 
Of  satraps  or  of  kings  ; 
So  shalt  thou  find  at  last, 
Far  from  the  giddy  brain 
Self-knowledge  and  self-culture  lead 
To  uncomputed  gain." 


199 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN. 


Sundays     at    Home. 


HETHER  we  regard  the  Sabbath  as  divinely 
appointed  or  as  growing  out  of  the  instincts 
and  necessities  of  man's  moral  and  spiritual 
nature,  the  experience  of  man  has  demonstrated  that  it 
sustains  a  vital  relation  to  our  highest  welfare. 

With  the  exception  of  the  few  hours  supposed  by  all 
civilized  people  to  be  spent  in  public  worship,  the  day  is 
not  in  any  sense  a  public  day,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the 
most  private  of  all  days.  It  is  a  day  when  the  loud  tumult 
of  public  affairs  is  hushed,  and  each  individual  becomes  a 
world  in  himself.  It  is  a  day  of  personal  meditation. 

A  purely  public  day,  like  the  Fourth  of  July  in  the 
United  States,  bears  little  relation  to  the  home  life.  It  is 
from  the  fact  that  Sunday  is  the  most  private  of  all  days, 
that  we  here  make  it  a  subject  of  special  consideration  ; 
in  order,  if  possible,  to  determine  what  purpose  in  the 
economy  of  home  shall  be  subserved  by  this  important 
period  called  the  Sabbath.  It  constitutes  one  seventh  of 
our  entire  existence,  and  of  no  other  seventh  do  we  spend 
so  large  a  part  at  home.  For  the  small  part  that  is  devoted 

200 


Sundays  at  Home. 

to  public  worship  by  no  means  equals  that  consumed  on 
other  days  by  labor  and  those  duties  which  partially  or 
wholly  isolate  us  from  the  influences  of  home. 

H>jOW,  then,  shall   we  employ  the  Sunday  at  home? 

V_  How   shall  we  secure  for  it  a  place  among  the 

higher    ministries    of    home    life  ?    This,   of    course,   will 

depend  somewhat  upon  the  views  we  hold  concerning  the 

nature  and  object  of  the  Sabbath. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  discuss  the  subject  in  its  theo- 
logical aspect,  but  simply  to  compel  it,  if  possible,  to  yield 
a  contribution  to  the  lessons  of  home  life.  And  yet  it  is 
impossible  to  do  even  this  without  taking  some  definite 
ground  as  to  the  religious  significance  of  the  day.  It  is 
useless  to  contend  that  the  Sabbath  has  no  religious  sig- 
nificance, for,  to  divest  it  of  such  significance  would  be,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  to  abolish  it  altogether.  If  it  be 
claimed  that  the  Sabbath  was  born  of  human  instincts, 
still  it  was  of  the  religious  instincts,  and  to  prove  that  it 
was  thus  born  would  be  to  claim  for  it  a  Divine  sanction. 
We  believe  that  the  religious  nature  of  man  and  the  insti- 
tution of  the  Sabbath  are  complementary,  the  one  to  the 
other.  But  whatever  origin  may  be  claimed  for  the  Sab- 
bath, and  whatever  purpose  it  was  primarily  intended  to 
serve  in  the  economy  of  civilization,  we  have  no  reason  to 
believe  that  it  was  intended  for  a  period  of  "  suspended 
animation"  or  of  physical  and  mental  stagnation.  Jesus 

201 


Sundays  at  Home. 

rebuked  the  too  close  and  Pharisaical  observance  of  the 
Sabbath,  and  taught,  both  by  precept  and  by  example,  that 
man  was  not  made  in  order  that  he  might  observe  the  Sab- 
bath, but,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  Sabbath  was  made  in 
order  that  man  might  have  the  privilege  of  observing  it. 
Man  was  made  first  and  the  Sabbath  was  adapted  to  him, 
although  we  believe  that  the  natural  law  on  which  the 
Sabbath  is  based  is  coeval  with  the  history  of  creation. 

If,  then,  the  Sabbath  originated  in  the  religious 
instincts  of  man,  it  is  inconsistent  and  foolish  to  contend 
that  it  should  not  be  observed  as  a  day  of  special  religious 
exercise.  But  the  question  still  arises,  what  constitutes 
special  religious  exercise  ?  and  by  what  method  is  the 
desired  result  best  attained  ? 

The  now  generally  recognized  law  that  disagreeable  or 
painful  action  always  weakens  the  faculty  involved  instead 
of  strengthening  it,  is  directly  opposed  to  the  Puritanic 
observance  of  the  Sabbath ;  for  how  can  a  child  be  sub- 
mitted to  more  intense  mental  torture,  than  to  be  compelled 
to  spend  a  whole  day  where  he  is  not  allowed  to  smile, 
where  all  conversation  is  suppressed,  except  that  which  is 
absolutely  necessary,  and  where  even  that  is  conducted 
with  semi-whispers  in  the  unmistakable  tone  of  reverence 
and  awe  ?  The  Sabbath  in  too  many  homes  is  a  day  to  be 
dreaded  by  the  children.  The  observance  of  it  required  is 
so  strict  as  to  be  painful,  and  hence  weakens  their  moral 
and  religious  nature  instead  of  strengthening  it.  The  effect 

202 


Sundays  at  Home. 

of  such  forced  action  is  almost  always  far  worse  than  no 
action  at  all.  This  law  obtains  with  reference  to  every 
power  of  our  being,  but  its  action  is  most  obvious  with 
reference  to  the  moral  and  spiritual  faculties.  These  must 
act  from  choice  or  they  cannot  be  strengthened.  Hence 
the  question  becomes  a  most  delicate  one,  "How  shall 
the  Sunday  be  spent  at  home  ? " 

l/ERHAPS  no  further  advice  to  the  intelligent  parent 

V,^  is  required  than  that  he  should  be  guided  in  all 

cases  by  this  great  law,  that  every  action,  in  order  that  it 

may  strengthen  the    part    acting,   must  be    accompanied 

with  pleasure,  instead  of  pain. 

In  the  first  place,  let  the  Sunday  at  home  be  divested  of 
all  needless  solemnity  ;  let  it  be  a  day  of  cheerfulness  and 
social  enjoyment,  a  day  of  music  both  instrumental  and 
vocal,  a  day  of  conversation  and  reading.  Let  the  chil- 
dren be  taught  to  think  and  to  meditate  on  the  great  prob- 
lems of  life  and  the  vast  concerns  of  eternity,  not  in  a 
solemn,  awe-inspiring  way,  but  in  a  manner  consonant 
with  good  judgment  and  common  sense.  Let  them  be 
encouraged  to  engage  in  respectful  discussions  among 
themselves  on  these  questions.  Thus  will  they  early 
develop  a  tendency  to  think  and  hold  opinions  of  their 
own,  while  yet  the  parents'  superior  wisdom  may  detect 
and  point  out  fallacies  in  their  reasoning.  There  is  little 
danger  of  sophistry  and  false  conclusions  in  these  argu- 

203 


Sundays  at  Home. 

ments  if  the  parent  is  watchful,  and  seeks  constantly  to 
set  the  young  thinkers  right,  not  by  an  ipse  dixit,  nor  even 
by  "thus  saith  the  Scripture,"  but  by  convincing  their 
reason  with  superior  logic. 

When  one  begins  to  doubt  any  doctrine,  whether  intel- 
lectual or  religious,  he  naturally  conceives  a  dislike  for  any 
authority  which  disputes  his  ground,  unless  the  authority 
is  enforced  by  reasons  which  his  own  intellect  is  compelled 
to  acknowledge  as  conclusive.  Superior  logic  is  the  only 
authority  which  a  questioning  mind  naturally  receives 
with  good  grace.  Hence,  if  you  do  not  wish  your  child  to 
hate  the  Bible,  do  not  attempt  to  silence  all  his  questions 
by  the  mere  quotation  of  Scriptural  texts,  but  first,  calmly 
and  kindly,  lay  bare  the  fallacy  in  his  argument,  and 
then  show  him,  if  you  choose,  how  your  own  argument 
accords  with  Scripture. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  why  not  teach  the  child  to  trust  ? 
why  cultivate  a  tendency  to  question,  by  harboring  the 
argumentative  disposition  ?  There  is,  it  is  true,  a  period  in 
early  childhood  when  unquestioning  trust  is  natural  and 
proper.  But  let  us  remember  that  when  the  child  reaches 
the  age  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  he  comes  suddenly  into  pos- 
session of  the  weapon  of  logic,  and  no  matter  what  may 
have  been  the  teachings  and  influences  of  his  early  years, 
he  will,  between  the  ages  of  fourteen  and  twenty,  think, 
doubt,  and  question  for  himself.  Every  human  mind, 
however  trustful  it  may  be  through  childhood,  must  pass 

204 


Sundays  at  Home. 

through  its  period  of  doubt  and  mental  conflict,  and  the 
earlier  this  period  is  passed,  the  better  and  the  safer. 
Unbelievers  are  made  out  of  those  minds  which  receive 
only  the  ipse  dixit  of  bigoted  fathers,  after  the  awakening 
intellect  demands  a  reason. 

When  questions  begin  to  present  themselves  to  such 
minds,  questions  that  insist  upon  an  answer,  dissatisfied 
with  the  merely  dogmatic  answer  of  the  father,  they  nat- 
urally appropriate  the  most  logical  explanation  at  hand, 
which,  of  course,  partakes  of  the  narrowness  of  their  own 
thought-power,  and  thus  they  are  often  led  astray. 

There  are  probably  in  the  world  few  unbelievers  who 
would  be  such  had  their  young  logic  been  answered  with 
logic  and  not  with  authority.  We  believe  that  a  very 
large  percentage  of  the  world's  unbelief  is  due  to  a  wrong 
system  of  Sunday  discipline. 

we  would  not  have  the  children  disregard  the 
solemnity  and  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath.  It  is  nat- 
ural for  children  as  well  as  for  older  people  to  have  their 
periods  of  serious  thought.  But  parents  should  bear  in 
mind  that  with  the  child  these  periods  are  not  naturally 
quite  so  serious  nor  so  protracted  as  their  own.  We  believe 
the  day  should  be  a  day  of  rest,  not,  however,  for  the 
reason  usually  assigned,  viz.,  that  man's  physical  nature 
requires  it.  For  to  suppose  that  the  natural  duties  of  life 
constitute  a  burden  so  heavy  that  it  cannot  be  borne  with- 

205 


Sundays  at  Home. 

out  constantly  putting  it  down,  is  to  suppose  that  God 
made  a  mistake  in  the  adaptation  of  life's  powers  to  its 
duties. 

Man  is  surely  as  well  adapted  to  his  natural  surround- 
ings as  the  ant  or  the  beaver,  and  to  these,  the  burden  of 
life's  labor  is  not  so  great  as  to  require  a  periodic  rest. 

\  ijE  believe  that  the  philosophy  of  the  Sabbath  as  a 
^  day  of  rest  is  to  be  found  in  Nature's  law  of  undi- 
vided intensity,  the  law  by  which  it  is  impossible  for  an 
organized  being  to  act  intensely  at  two  or  more  points  at 
the  same  time.  This  law  holds  with  equal  force  in  the 
physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  worlds.  The  physician 
makes  a  practical  application  of  its  physical  phase  when  he 
irritates  the  feet  with  drafts  to  cure  the  headache.  The 
student  applies  its  mental  phase  when  he  requires  his 
room  to  be  silent  in  order  that  he  may  put  his  "whole 
mind "  to  his  task.  And  the  saint  applies  its  moral  phase 
when  he  avoids  temptation  and  prays  in  his  closet. 

Now,  the  Sabbath  is  the  complement  of  man's  religious 
nature,  and  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  "  periodicity," 
of  which  we  have  already  spoken  in  our  chapter  on  "  Self 
Culture,"  this  department  of  his  nature  must  act  with 
special  force  at  certain  regular  periods.  In  the  light  of 
these  facts  the  whole  philosophy  of  the  Sabbath  as  a  day  of 
rest  may  be  seen  at  a  glance  by  watching  a  laborer  at 
work.  Suddenly  a  thought  seizes  him ;  one  which  deeply 

206 


Sundays  at  Home. 

interests,  and  vitally  concerns  him.     How  instinctively  he 
drops  his  tools  and  stands  motionless  ! 

Now,  we  have  only  to  regard  the  world  as  one  man 
laboring  for  his  daily  bread,  but  who,  by  a  law  of  his 
spiritual  nature,  is  called  upon  once  in  seven  days  to  think 
with  special  intensity  upon  the  great  concerns  of  the 
eternal  and  the  unseen.  The  same  instinct  that  caused  the 
mechanic  to  drop  his  tool  and  stand  motionless  causes 
the  world  to  do  the  same.  It  is  but  the  instinctive  applica- 
tion of  this  universal  law  of  undivided  intensity  that 
closes  the  furnace  door,  hushes  the  roar  of  the  engine,  and 
spreads  the  mantle  of  silent  thought  over  the  great  city. 

I S  it  then  a  sin  to  labor  on  the  Sabbath  ?  Yes,  a  two- 
fold sin,  a  sin  against  both  our  physical  and  our 
moral  nature.  Just  as  when  one  eats  heartily  when 
engaged  in  intense  mental  labor,  he  sins  against  both  his 
mind  and  his  stomach.  Physicians  tell  us  we  can  do 
nothing  more  injurious,  for  the  brain  leaving  concentrated 
nearly  all  the  vital  energy  of  the  system,  the  stomach  is  in 
consequence  left  feeble  and  unable  to  dispose  of  its  burden 
without  a  great  strain.  Exactly  the  same  principle  holds 
with  reference  to  laboring  on  the  Sabbath. 

The  absorbing  occupation  of  the  Sabbath  should  be  the 
study  of  ourselves  with  the  one  view  to  symmetrical  self 
culture.  Sunday  is  the  day  of  all  others  for  self  culture. 
It  is  a  day  in  which  we  should  study  our  relation  to  our 

207 


Sundays  at  Home. 

Maker,  and  in  accordance  with  the  impulses  of  the  moral 
nature,  all  our  mental  energies  should  be  expended  in 
rounding  out  our  characters,  and  perfecting  our  whole 
nature. 

He  who  attempts  this  great  work  on  the  Sabbath,  and 
at  the  same  time  attempts  to  carry  on  the  ordinary  labors 
of  life,  is  not  only  thwarting  his  own  efforts  at  self-improve- 
ment, but  is  doing  that  which  will  shorten  his  life  perhaps 
a  score  of  years. 

But  he  who  carries  his  ordinary  labors  into  the  Sab- 
bath does  not,  of  course,  observe  the  day.  Then  he  com- 
mits a  still  worse  sin.  He  not  only  sins  against  society, 
which,  however,  is  a  comparatively  minor  sin,  but  he 
refuses  to  obey  a  great  spiritual  law,  which  is  woven  into 
the  very  constitution  of  his  moral  nature. 

So  that,  view  the  subject  as  we  may,  we  cannot  ignore 
the  Sabbath  without  sinning  against  ourselves,  and  we 
cannot  sin  against  ourselves  without  sinning  against  our 
God.  * 

"  O  day  to  sweet  religious  thought 

So  wisely  set  apart, 
Back  to  the  silent  strength  of  life 
Help  thou  my  wavering  heart. 

1 '  Nor  let  the  obtrusive  lies  of  sense 

My  meditations  draw 
From  the  composed,  majestic  realm 
Of  everlasting  law. 
208 


Sundays  at  Home. 

"  Break  down  whatever  hindering  shapes 

I  see  or  seem  to  see, 
And  make  my  soul  acquainted  with 
Celestial  company. 

"  Beyond  the  wintry  waste  of  death 
Shine  fields  of  heavenly  light ; 
Let  not  this  incident  of  time 
Absorb  me  from  their  sight. 

"  I  know  these  outward  forms  wherein 

So  much  my  hopes  I  stay, 
Are  but  the  shadowy  hints  of  that 
Which  cannot  pass  away. 

"  That  just  outside  the  work-day  path 

By  man 's  volition  trod, 
Lie  the  resistless  issues  of 

The  things  ordained  of  God." 


209 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN. 


Individual  Rules  of  Conduct. 


^CCESSFUL  culture  is  rarely  the  result  of 
unmethodical  effort.  The  best  results  are 
obtained  only  when  due  regard  is  had  to  a 
judicious  and  systematic  use  of  time,  when  the  mind  sub- 
jects itself  to  self-government  through  a  code  of  laws 
adopted  and  approved  by  itself.  Mind  in  all  its  operations 
and  volitions  is  under  the  dominion  of  law.  There  is  no 
product  of  creation's  law  that  in  its  operations  can  tran- 
scend law.  A  being,  then,  develops  best  and  most  rapidly 
when  each  department  of  his  nature  is  subjected  to  the 
rigid  discipline  of  its  own  laws. 

In  our  chapter  on  self  culture  we  have  dwelt  upon  the 
general  laws  that  govern  our  physical,  intellectual,  and 
moral  natures ;  but  there  are  laws  of  a  less  general  charac- 
ter, which  it  is  equally  important  that  we  should  observe, 
laws  pertaining  to  individuals  and  growing  out  of  organic 
or  temperamental  conditions. 

These  laws  each  individual  must  discover  and  obey  for 

210 


Individual  Rules  of  Conduct. 

himself  ;  for  since  they  originate  in  individual  peculiarities 
they  cannot  be  of  general  significance,  and  hence  cannot 
be  formulated  into  a  code  by  any  but  the  individual  him- 
self. Such  are  the  laws  pertaining  to  the  particular  time 
and  the  amount  of  sleep  required  by  each  person,  to  the 
kind  and  quantity  of  food  desirable  for  each,  and  to  the 
processes  of  thought  and  mental  activity  that  vary  with 
traits  and  temperaments. 

All  these  laws  should  be  ascertained  by  self-examina- 
tion and  by  remembering  our  own  experiences.  In  this 
connection  it  is  proper  to  consider  the  importance  of  divid- 
ing each  day  into  periods  for  the  performance  of  special 
duties.  Learn  from  self-observation  what  part  of  the  day 
may  be  with  greatest  advantage  spent  in  reading  and 
study.  Not  alone,  however,  with  reference  to  reading  and 
study,  but  with  reference  to  each  and  every  function  of 
life.  But  it  is  not  enough  merely  to  learn  these  facts.  It 
is  far  more  important,  as  it  is  far  more  difficult,  to  form 
and  keep  the  resolutions  to  which  this  knowledge  should 
prompt  us  and  make  them  a  part  of  our  daily  routine. 

I  HIS  subject  naturally  suggests  the  practice  of  keep- 
^  ing  a  journal.  There  is  perhaps  no  other  practice 
which,  in  proportion  to  the  exertion  it  requires,  is  capable  of 
yielding  such  desirable  results  in  the  direction  of  personal 
culture.  Setting  aside  the  advantages  of  being  able,  at  a 
moment's  notice,  to  present  the  written  volume  of  our  lives 

211 


Individual  Rules  of  Conduct. 

(not  the  generalities  and  glowing  eulogiums  in  which  biog- 
raphers and  literary  executors  indulge),  such  a  minute 
delineation  of  our  daily  thoughts  and  deeds  through  all  our 
past  years,  as  will  enable  us  at  any  moment  to  tell  what 
function  in  our  life's  programme  a  given  day  has  per- 
formed, —  setting  aside  all  this,  there  is  probably  no  one 
practice  more  disciplinary  in  its  permanent  effects  than 
that  of  recording  each  night  the  thoughts  and  deeds  of  the 
vanished  day.  The  duty,  however,  should  be  conscien- 
tiously performed.  This  disciplinary  tendency  is  in  the 
process  itself  independent  of  the  record's  value. 

It  often  happens  that  the  demands  of  daily  life  present 
themselves  with  such  tumultuous  rapidity,  and  in  such 
perplexing  confusion,  that  the  great  reviewer,  Conscience, 
does  not  always  have  time  to  subject  each  act  to  a  suffi- 
ciently scrutinizing  examination.  And  many  of  them  get 
a  favorable  verdict  by  demanding  a  haste  that  conceals 
their  deformities.  But  when,  at  the  close  of  day, — that 
hour  which  seems  to  offer  most  leisure  for  the  solution  of 
life's  problems, —  we  sit,  calmly  reviewing  our  deeds  in  the 
order  of  their  occurrence,  and  in  all  their  inter-relations, 
then  it  often  happens  that  Conscience  finds  occasion  to 
revoke  its  decision,  and  to  pass  a  severer  verdict. 

Again,  the  aid  in  the  cultivation  of  memory  which  the 
practice  offers  is  by  no  means  insignificant,  since  it  espe- 
cially cultivates  that  power  of  memory  in  which  a  large 
number  of  persons  are  deficient,  viz.,  the  power  to  repro- 

212 


Individual  Rules  of  Conduct. 

duce  impressions  in  the  order  in  which  they  occurred.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  this  form  of  memory  is  the  most 
useful  of  all.  That  form  of  memory  which  enables  one  to 
reproduce  a  few  disjointed  links  in  a  chain  of  thought, 
although  it  may  reproduce  a  great  many  of  them,  can  sel- 
dom be  of  great  service  to  its  possessor.  The  recollection 
of  past  events  is  valuable  to  us  only  as  it  enables  us  to 
recognize  the  relation  of  the  recollected  events.  Hence  the 
value  of  that  form  of  memory  that  can  recollect  them  in 
their  sequential  order. 

Now,  the  reader  will  demand  no  proof  of  the  assertion 
that  there  are  no  means  by  which  this  form  of  memory  can 
be  so  quickly  and  thoroughly  acquired  as  by  the  practice 
of  recalling  each  night  the  experiences  of  the  day  in  their 
chronological  order.  The  talent  for  public  speaking,  so 
highly  prized  by  all  young  men,  but  possessed  by  few,  is 
almost  wholly  conferred  by  this  power  of  consecutive 
memory.  Those  who  possess  it  are  enabled  not  only  to 
reproduce  the  thoughts  gathered  in  the  process  of  prepara- 
tion, but  to  reproduce  them  in  their  order,  one  thought 
suggesting  the  next  and  thus  enabling  the  speaker  to  dis- 
pense with  notes. 

We  cannot  too  strongly  urge  the  practice  of  keeping  a 
journal.  We  have  dwelt  thus  at  length  upon  the  subject 
on  account  of  the  importance  which  we  believe  it  pos- 
sesses, and  because  it  affords  the  best  possible  assistance 
in  carrying  out  the  chief  injunction  of  this  chapter,  viz., 

213 


Individual  Rules  of  Conduct. 

that  each  individual  should  govern  himself  by  laws,  max- 
ims, and  resolutions  of  his  own  authorship. 

I »  fE  would  recommend,  not  only  the  practice  of  record- 
^  ing,  in  the  evening,  the  thoughts,  deeds,  and  events 
of  the  day,  but  also  of  recording,  in  the  morning,  that 
which  we  intend  to  accomplish  during  the  day.  This  prac- 
tice offers  a  threefold  advantage.  First,  it  enables  us  to 
govern  ourselves  through  the  day  by  the  laws  which  we 
enact  in  our  better  moods  ;  second,  it  leads  us  to  set  a  high 
price  upon  time,  and  to  cultivate  a  habit  of  punctuality  and 
method  ;  third,  when  we  have  written  the  record  at  even- 
ing just  under  the  promise  of  the  morning,  and  the  divine 
conscience  within  us  utters  in  our  spirit's  ear  the  comments 
that  seem  fittest,  we  may  be  gazing  upon  one  of  the  most 
significant  lessons  of  life.  For  it  is  a  lesson  symbolic  of 
the  close  of  many  a  life  ;  a  dark  and  colorless  evening  in 
sad  contrast  with  the  brilliant  hues  and  joyous  beauty  of 
youth's  morning.  The  practice  can  have  but  one  tendency, 
and  that  is  to  make  these  two  records  more  closely 
agree. 

I  HE  journal  or  diary  is  the  best  and  most  convenient 
^    place  in  which  to  record  those  maxims  and  resolu- 
tions,  the  wisdom  and  necessity  of    which  we  have  so 
strongly  urged.     As  fast  as  you  discover  under  what  par- 
ticular regulations  and  circumstances  a  given  function  of 

214 


Individual  Rules  of  Conduct. 

your  life  is  most  advantageously  performed,  make  these 
regulations  and  circumstances  the  theme  of  a  resolution  or 
a  maxim,  and  record  it  in  your  diary,  to  become  a  law  of 
your  life. 

In  this  way  you  will  eliminate  the  evil  and  conserve 
the  good  in  your  experience.  You  will  grow  wiser  and 
better,  and  in  the  end,  it  is  possible  that  your  list  of  resolu- 
tions may  become  a  contribution  to  the  world's  store  of 
wisdom  and  virtue.  This,  however,  should  not  be  the 
object  of  the  resolutions.  Your  one  purpose  should  be  the 
development  in  your  soul  of  life's  virtues,  for  it  is  by  these 
that  life  is  measured. 

"  Count  life  by  virtues  ;  these  will  last 

When  life's  lame,  foiled  race  is  o'er  ; 
And  these,  when  earthly  joys  are  past, 
Shall  cheer  us  on  a  brighter  shore." 


215 


CHAPTER    NINETEEN. 


Correspondence  and  Social  Korms. 


HERE  is  probably  no  one  accomplishment  that 
reveals  so  much  of  human  character  as  that  of 
correspondence.  All  are  familiar  with  the  fact 
that  experts  are  able  from  the  handwriting  alone  to  give 
the  prominent  features  of  the  writer's  character,  and  in 
cases  of  suspected  forgery  the  uniformity  of  handwriting 
is  allowed  as  evidence  in  the  courts. 

But  much  as  is  revealed  by  the  manner  in  which  we 
write,  still  more  is  revealed  by  the  nature  of  that  which  is 
written, —  not  only  the  general  merit  of  the  composition, 
but  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  expressed,  the  delicacy 
and  propriety  with  which  they  are  expressed,  the  neatness 
of  the  written  page,  the  orthography,  and  the  grammar. 
Then  there  is  a  certain  individuality  that  impresses  us  that 
comes  under  none  of  these  heads,  too  subtile  to  be  reduced 
to  a  definition  ;  more  ethereal  than  the  perfume  of  a  tropic 
morning,  but  which  stamps  the  product  unmistakably  as 
the  work  of  a  noble  soul.  This  indefinable  something 
transforms  all  the  sharp  angles  and  irregular  lines  into 

216 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

shapes  that  please,  and  covers  the  ugliness  of  imperfect 
chirography  with  a  secondary  beauty  on  which  we  delight 
to  gaze. 

SCCHOLARSHIP,  culture,  refinement,  and  inborn  no- 
'**^  bility  nowhere  betray  themselves  so  conspicuously 
as  in  the  act  of  correspondence.  While  general  culture 
of  the  whole  mind  is  necessary  to  the  acquirement  of 
this  accomplishment,  yet  the  only  specific  means  to  be 
employed  is  the  study  of  the  best  models.  Advantage 
should  be  taken  of  the  imitative  tendency  of  little  chil- 
dren, and  accordingly  all  the  best  correspondence  of 
the  parents  should  be  read  repeatedly  to  the  children. 
They  will  always  be  interested  in  a  letter  from  Aunt 
Josephine  or  Cousin  Robert,  and  if  the  letter  is  a  good 
model  it  should  be  read  and  re-read  in  the  presence  of 
the  child  till  he  begins  to  catch  the  phraseology.  The  best 
models  of  the  father's  business  correspondence  may  be 
committed  to  memory  by  the  children.  These  forms  once 
fixed  in  their  minds  will  leave  their  influence  long  years 
after  the  words  of  the  model  are  forgotten. 

The  particular  examples  and  problems  we  solved  in  our 
school  days  are  all  forgotten,  but  they  have  left  something 
in  our  minds  of  which  we  make  use  every  day.  So  in 
regard  to  these  models  in  correspondence.  It  is  not  so 
much  the  mechanical  form  of  the  written  page  to  which 
we  would  call  the  attention  of  the  young  reader,  as  to  that 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

intellectual  ideal  to  which  the  study  of  the  models  gives 
rise,  and  which  embraces  not  only  .the  mechanical  form, 
but  all  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  it  a  finished  product 
of  the  individual  mind. 

We  have  tried  to  select  such  models  as  in  themselves 
convey  valuable  suggestions  and  information  on  the  gen- 
eral theme  of  correspondence. 

The  one  great  error  into  which  most  young  people 
fall  in  the  matter  of  correspondence  is  the  idea  that  to 
write  a  letter  is  to  perform  a  literary  feat. 

When  a  child  writes  his  first  letter  to  his  cousin  or 
absent  friend,  he  usually  makes  a  day's  work  of  it  even 
with  his  mother's  suggestions,  while  if  that  cousin  or 
friend  were  to  visit  him,  he  would  not  only  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  prattling  all  day,  but  would  probably  much  prefer 
to  dispense  with  his  mother's  suggestions. 

In  the  following  letter  from  the  Hon.  William  Wirt  to 
his  daughter,  mark  how  charmingly  natural  and  simple 
his  language.  It  seems  almost  impossible  that  such  should 
have  been  written.  It  seems  more  like  a  verbatim  report 
of  a  fireside  conversation. 

BALTIMORE,  April  18,  1882. 
MY  DKAK  CHILD  : 

You  wrote  me  a  dutiful  letter,  equally  honorable  to  your  head 
and  heart,  for  which  I  thank  you,  and  when  I  grow  to  be  a  light- 
hearted,  light-headed,  happy,  thoughtless  young  girl,  I  will  give  you 
a  quid  pro  quo.  As  it  is,  you  must  take  such  a  letter  as  a  man 
of  sense  can  write,  although  it  has  been  remarked,  that  the'  more 

218 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

sensible  the  man,  the  more  dull  his  letter.  Don't  ask  me  by  whom 
remarked,  or  L  shall  refer  you,  .with  Jenkinson,  in  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  to  Sanconiathon,  Manetho,  and  Berosus. 

This  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  card  of  impressions  from  the  pencil 
seals,  which  I  intended  to  enclose  last  mail,  for  you  to  your  mother, 
but  forgot.  Lo  !  here  they  are.  These  are  the  best  I  can  find  in 
Baltimore.  I  have  marked  them  according  to  my  taste  ;  but  exer- 
cise your  own  exclusively,  and  choose  for  yourself,  if  either  of  them 
please  you. 

Shall  I  bring  you  a  Spanish  guitar  of  Giles'  choosing?  Can  you 
be  certain  that  you  will  stick  to  it?  And  some  music  for  the  Spanish 
guitar?  What  say  you? 

There  are  three  necklaces  that  tempt  me, —  a  beautiful  mock 
emerald,  a  still  more  beautiful  mock  ruby  with  pearls,  and  a  still 
most  beautiful  of  real  topaz, —  what  say  you? 

Will  you  have  either  of  the  scarfs  described  to  your  mother, 
and  which  —  the  blue  or  the  black  ?  They  are  very  fashionable  and 
beautiful.  Any  of  those  wreaths  arid  flowers?  Consult  your  dear 
mother ;  always  consult  her,  always  respect  her.  This  is  the  only 
way  to  make  yourself  respectable  and  lovely.  God  bless  you,  and 

make  you  happy. 

Your  affectionate  father, 

WILLIAM  WIRT. 

This  quality  of  simplicity  is  the  chief  virtue  of  the 
family  letter  and  the  letter  of  friendship.  In  these  it  is 
necessary  to  observe  but  one  principal  rule,  viz.,  write 
just  as  you  would  talk  if  the  person  to  whom  you  write 
were  by  your  side.  A  letter  to  mother  or  father  is  no 
place  to  display  your  literary  skill  by  the  free  use  of  tech- 
nical words  and  high-sounding  phrases.  When  the  letters 
of  brothers  and  sisters  become  essays,  be  assured  that  their 
heart  relations  are  not  what  they  should  be.  The  vocabu- 

210 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

laries  of  affection  are  not  compiled  from  the  glossaries  of 
science  and  philosophy. 

When  you  write  to  a  friend  put  yourself  into  the  letter. 
He  does  not  wish  you  to  instruct  him.  It  isn't  what  you 
say,  but  yourself  that  he  desires.  Except  that  of  business, 
the  one  object  of  all  correspondence  is  to  serve  as  a  substi- 
tute for  that  interblending  of  personalities  which  is  the 
excuse  and  philosophy  of  society.  It  is  a  miserable  substi- 
tute at  best,  and  fulfills  its  office  badly  enough  even  when 
we  put  all  of  ourselves  into  it  that  we  can.  It  is  not  ego- 
tism to  talk  about  yourself  in  a  letter  of  friendship,  for,  if 
your  friend  is  not  interested  in  you,  he  is  not  your  friend. 

The  following  is  from  a  young  man  in  college  to  his 
mother.  It  does  not  contain  a  single  allusion  to  Calculus, 
nor  are  there  any  Latin  quotations  in  it. 

AMHERST  COLLEGE,  Tuesday  evening. 
MY  DEAR  MOTHER  : 

Though  I  am  now  sitting  with  my  back  toward  you,  yet  I  love 
you  none  the  less ;  and  what  is  quite  as  strange,  I  can  see  you  just 
as  plainly  as  if  I  stood  peeping  in  upon  you.  I  can  see  you  all  just 
as  you  sit  around  the  table.  Tell  me  if  I  do  not  see  you? 

There  is  mother  on  the  right  of  the  table  with  her  knitting,  and 
a  book  open  before  her ;  and  anon  she  glances  her  eye  from  the  work 
on  the  paper  to  that  on  her  needles  ;  now  counts  the  stitches,  and 
then  puts  her  eye  on  the  book,  and  then  starts  off  on  another  round. 
There  is  Mary,  looking  wise  and  sewing  with  all  her  might ;  now  and 
then  stopping  to  give  Sarah  and  Louise  a  lift  in  their  lessons— trying 
to  initiate  them  in  the  mysteries  of  geography.  She  is  on  the  left 
side  of  the  table.  There,  in  the  background,  <is  silent  Joseph,  with 

220 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

his  slate,  now  making  a  mark,  and  then  biting  his  lip,  or  scratching 
his  head  to  see  if  the  algebraic  expression  may  not  have  hidden  in 
either  of  those  places.-  George  is  in  the  kitchen  tinkering  his  skates, 
or  contriving  a  trap  for  that  old  offender,  the  rat,  whose  cunning  has 
so  long  brought  mortification  upon  all  his  boastings.  I  can  now  hear 
his  hammer  and  his  whistle  —  that  peculiar  sucking  sort  of  whistle 
which  indicates  a  puzzled  state  of  brain.  Little  William  and  Henry 
are  in  bed,  and  if  you  will  step  to  the  bedroom  door  you  will  barely 
hear  them  breathe.  And  now  mother  has  stopped  and  is  absent  and 
thoughtful,  and  my  heart  tells  me  she  is  thinking  of  her  only  absent 
child. 

You  have  been  even  kinder  than  I  expected  or  you  promised. 
I  did  not  expect  to  hear  from  you  till  to-morrow,  at  earliest,  but  as  I 
was  walking  to-day,  one  of  my  classmates  cried,  "A  bundle  for  you 
at  the  office  !  "  I  was  soon  in  my  room  with  it.  Out  came  my  knife, 
and,  forgetting  all  your  good  advice  about  "  strings  and  fragments," 
the  bundle  soon  opened  its  very  heart  to  me  ;  and  it  proved  a  warm 
heart,  too,  for  there  were  the  stockings, —  they  are  on  my  feet  now, 
that  is,  one  pair  of  them, —  and  there  were  the  flannels,  and  the 
bosoms,  and  the  gloves,  and  the  pincushion  from  Louise,  and  the 
needlebook  from  Sarah,  and  the  paper  from  Mary,  and  the  letters 
and  love  from  all  of  you.  Thanks  to  you  all  for  the  bundle,  letters, 
and  love.  One  corner  of  my  eye  is  now  moistened  while  I  say, 
"  Thanks  to  ye  all,  gude  folks."  I  must  not  forget  to  mention  the 
apples,  —  "the  six  apples,  one  from  each," — and  the  beautiful  little 
loaf  of  cake.  The  apples  I  have  smelled,  and  the  cake  nibbled  a 
little,  and  pronounced  it  to  be  in  the  finest  taste. 

Now,  a  word  about  your  letters.  I  cannot  say  much,  for  I  have 
only  read  mother's  three  times  and  Mary's  twice.  I  am  glad  the 
spectacles  fitted  mother's  eyes  so  well.  You  wonder  how  I  hit  it. 
Why,  have  I  not  been  told  from  babyhood  that  I  have  my  mother's 
eyes?  Now,  if  I  have  mother's  eyes,  what  is  plainer  than  that  I  can 
pick  out  glasses  that  will  suit  them?  I  am  glad,  too,  that  the  new 
book  is  a  favorite. 

I  suppose  the  pond  is  all  frozen  over,  and  the  skating  good.  I 
know  it  is  foolish ;  but  if  mother  and  Mary  had  skated  as  many 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

"  moouy  "  nights  as  I  have,  they  would  sigh,  not  at  the  thought,  but 
at  the  fact  that  my  skating  days  are  over. 

I  am  warm,  well,  and  comfortable.  We  all  study,  and  dull 
fellows,  like  myself,  have  to  confess  that  they  study  hard.  We  have 
no  genius  to  help  us.  My  chum  is  a  good  fellow.  He  now  sits  in 
yonder  corner,  his  feet  poised  upon  the  stove  in  such  a  way  that  the 
dullness  seems  to  have  all  run  out  of  his  heels  into  his  head,  for  he 
is  fast  asleep. 

I  have  got  it  framed,  and  there  it  hangs  —  the  picture  of  my 
father !  I  never  look  up  without  seeing  it,  and  I  never  see  it  without 
thinking  that  my  mother  is  a  widow  and  that  I  am  her  eldest  son. 
What  more  I  think  I  will  not  be  fool  enough  to  say  —  you  will 
imagine  better  than  I  can  say  it. 

I  need  not  say  write,  for  1  know  that  you  will.     Love  to  you  all, 

and  much  too. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

HERBERT. 

LOUD  CHESTERFIELD  TO  HIS  SON. 
DEAR  BOY  : 

Your  letters,  except  when  upon  a  given  subject,  are  exceedingly 
laconic,  and  neither  answer  my  desires  nor  the  purpose  of  letters  ; 
which  should  be  familiar  conversations  between  absent  friends.  As 
I  desire  to  live  with  you  upon  the  footing  of  an  intimate  friend,  and 
not  of  a  parent,  I  could  wish  that  your  letters  gave  me  more  par- 
ticular account  of  yourself,  and  of  your  lesser  transactions.  When 
you  write  to  me,  suppose  yourself  conversing  freely  with  me,  by  the 
fireside.  In  that  case  you  would  naturally  mention  the  incidents  of 
the  day,  as  where  you  had  been,  whom  you  had  seen,  what  you 
thought  of  them,  etc.  Do  this  in  your  letters  :  acquaint  me  some- 
times with  your  studies,  sometimes  with  your  diversions  ;  tell  me  of 
any  new  persons  and  characters  that  you  meet  with  in  company,  and 
add  your  own  observations  upon  them  ;  in  short,  let  me  see  more  of 
you  in  your  letters. 

How  do  you  go  on  with  Lord  Multeney  ;  and  how  does  he  go  on 
at  Leipzig?  Has  he  learning,  has  he  parts,  has  lie  application?  Is 

222 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

he  good  or  ill  natured?  In  short,  what  is  he?  At  least,  what  do 
you  think  of  him?  You  may  tell  me  without  reserve,  for  I  promise 
secrecy. 

You  are  now  of  an  age  that  I  am  desirous  of  beginning  a  confi- 
dential correspondence  with  you,  and  as  I  shall,  on  my  part,  write 
you  very  freely  my  opinion  upon  men  and  things,  which  I  should 
often  be  very  unwilling  that  anybody  but  you  or  Mr.  Harts  should 
see,  so,  on  your  part,  if  you  write  me  without  reserve,  you  may 
depend  upon  my  inviolable  secrecy.  If  you  have  ever  looked  into 
the  letters  of  Madame  de  Sevigne  to  her  daughter,  Madame  de 
Grignan,  you  must  have  observed  the  ease,  freedom,  and  friendship 
of  that  correspondence  ;  and  yet  I  hope,  and  believe,  that  they  did 
not  love  one  another  better  than  we  do.  Tell  me  what  books  you 
are  now  reading,  either  by  way  of  study  or  amusement ;  how  you 
pass  your  evenings  when  at  home,  and  where  you  pass  them  when 
abroad. 


The  foregoing  letters  in  themselves  contain  a  whole 
volume  on  the  subject  of  correspondence.  They  leave 
very  little  to  be  said  as  to  what  a  family  letter  should  be. 
We  will,  however,  add  one  more,  a  genuine  love  letter  in 
disguise  written  by  Doctor  Franklin.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  nature  of  a  love  letter,  however,  that  renders  neces- 
sary any  different  suggestions  from  those  we  have  already 
given  under  letters  of  friendship.  We  have  said  there 
that  it  is  yourself,  more  than  what  you  say,  that  your 
friend  desires,  and  in  the  case  of  love  letters  the  same  is 
especially  true,  and  perhaps  in  a  more  literal  sense.  Some 
of  our  sentimental  readers  may  perhaps  be  a  little  disap- 
pointed after  reading  the  following  letter,  and  may  pos- 

223 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

sibly  blame  us,  and  accuse  us  of  malicious  intent  to  dash 
their  expectations.  But  if  the  letter  does  not  fall  under 
their  definition  of  a  love  letter,  the  fault  is  doubtless  one  of 
age,  and  not  of  natural  judgment. 

DR.  FRANKLIN  TO  HIS  WIFE. 
MY  DEAR  CHILD  : 

I  wrote  you,  a  few  days  since,  by  a  special  messenger,  and 
inclosed  letters  for  all  our  wives  and  sweethearts,  expecting  to  hear 
from  you  by  his  return,  and  to  have  the  northern  newspapers  and 
English  letters  per  the  packet ;  but  he  is  just  now  returned  without  a 
scrap  for  poor  us  ;  so  I  had  a  good  mind  not  to  write  to  you  by  this 
opportunity ;  but  I  can  never  be  ill-natured  enough,  even  when  there 
is  the  most  occasion.  The  messenger  says  he  left  the  letters  at  your 
house,  and  saw  you  afterwards  at  Mr.  Duche's,  and  told  you  when 
he  would  go,  and  that  he  lodged  at  Honey's,  next  door  to  you,  and 
yet  you  did  not  write  ;  so  let  Goody  Smith  give  one  more  just  judg- 
ment, and  say  what  should  be  done  to  you.  I  think  I  won't  tell  you 
that  we  are  all  well,  nor  that  we  expect  to  return  about  the  middle 
of  the  week,  nor  will  I  send  you  a  word  of  news  —  that  is  poz. 

My  duty  to  mother,  love  to  children,  and  to  Miss  Betsey,  and 
Gracey,  etc.,  etc. 

I  am  your  loving  husband, 

B.  FRANKLIN. 

P.  S. — I  have  scratched  out  the  loving  words,  being  writ  in 
haste  by  mistake,  when  I  forgot  I  was  angry. 

There  is  another  class  of  correspondence  which  re- 
quires the  observance  of  a  very  different  class  of  rules 
from  those  already  given.  We  refer  to  business  corre- 
spondence. In  writing  a  business  letter  we  should  bear  in 
mind  that  the  person  addressed  cares  only  for  what  we 
have  to  say,  and  not  for  ourselves  ;  being  in  this  respect 

224 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

exactly  the  reverse  of  a  family  letter  or  a  letter  of  friend- 
ship. This  is  why  the  chief  virtue  of  a  business  letter  is 
brevity.  The  person  who  is  to  read  it  desires  to  learn  what 
you  have  to  say  about  your  business  as  quickly  as  possible, 
in  order  that  if  it  be  related  in  any  way  with  his  own,  he 
may  discharge  the  obligation  arising  from  that  relation, 
and  lose  no  time.  The  Anglo  Saxon  bisig  is  the  word  from 
which  are  derived  both  business  and  busy,  so  that  the 
business  man  is  supposed  to  be  a  busy  man  ;  hence  he  has 
no  time  to  weigh  political  arguments,  nor  to  consider  your 
peculiar  views  on  the  "Trinity." 

It  is  true  that  business  relations  may  exist  between 
friends,  and  they  may  feel  like  expressing  this  in  their 
business  letters,  but  if  they  do  so,  the  letter,  to  that  extent 
departs  from  the  nature  of  a  business  letter  and  becomes 
one  of  friendship.  In  this  case,  it  is  proper,  of  course,  that 
the  letter  should  be  a  mixed  one,  for  wherever  friendship 
exists  it  is  the  prerogative  of  the  parties  concerned  alone, 
to  say  when  and  under  what  circumstances  that  friendship 
shall  be  expressed. 

In  letters  of  this  kind,  it  is,  as  a  rule,  preferable  to 
devote  the  first  part  of  the  letter  to  the  business,  and  the 
latter  part  to  the  interests  of  friendship  ;  but  of  course, 
circumstances  and  the  relative  weight  of  the  two  interests 
must  determine  this  matter  in  the  mind  of  the  writer. 

The  requirements  of  a  business  letter  are  well  met  in 

the  following  model  : 

225 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

United  States  Coast  and  Geodetic  Survey, 

Washington,  D.  C.,  Jan.  1,  1899. 
Mr.  William  C.  King, 

Springfield,  Mass. 

Sir: — In  compliance,  so  far  as  practicable,  with  your  request 
of  the  6th  inst.,  I  sent  you  by  mail  yesterday,  free  of  charge,  26 
charts  of  canceled  editions,  unsuitable  for  navigation. 

Should  you  find  that  you  need  other  charts,  on  inspection  of 
the  catalogue,  also  mailed  to  you  yesterday,  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
furnish  you  with  twenty  more,  free  of  charge,  which  please  select 
and  mention  by  catalogue  numbers  only.  If  you  need  still  more, 
they  can  be  purchased  through  our  agents  in  Philadelphia,  Messrs. 
Riggs  &  Bros.,  No.  221  Walnut  Street. 

For  any  interior  maps  not  noted  in  our  catalogue,  I  would  refer 
you  to  the  U.  S.  Geological  Survey,  and  for  those  of  the  Mississippi 
River  and  Great  Lakes  to  the  Chief  of  Engineers,  U.  S.  A.,  both  in 
this  city. 

Respectfully  yours, 

ANDREW  J.  BRANDEN, 

Acting  Superintendent. 

It  very  frequently  happens  that  the  members  of  the 
family  are  called  upon  to  write,  or  to  reply  to  what  are 
called  letters  of  courtesy.  Such  letters  include  invitations, 
acceptances,  acknowledgments,  letters  of  congratulation, 
condolence,  of  introduction,  and  of  recommendation. 

Letters  of  invitation  vary  in  form,  according  to  the 
various  occasions  which  call  them  forth,  such  as  parties, 
balls,  dinners,  cards,  and  so  on.  Their  formality,  too, 
depends  largely  upon  the  dignity  and  character  of  the 
social  function. 

226 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

An  invitation  to  a  large  party  or  ball  should  read  as 
follows  : 

Mrs.  Davidson  requests  the  pleasure  of  Miss  Mellen's  company 
at  a  ball  on  Friday,  January  10,  at  9  o'clock. 

Invitations  to  a  ball  are  always  issued  in  the  name  of 
the  hostess. 

Letters  of  acceptance  or  declination  may  be  written  as 
follows  : 

Miss  Mellen  accepts  with  pleasure  Mrs.  Davidson's  kind  invi- 
tation for  January  10. 

Or, 

Miss  Mellen  regrets  that  the  illness  of  her  mother  [or  what- 
ever the  cause  may  be]  prevents  her  acceptance  of  Mrs.  Davidson's 
kind  invitation  for  January  1 0. 

The  invitation  to  a  large  party  is  similar  to  that  for  a 
ball  with  the  exception  that  the  words  "at  a  ball "  are 
omitted  and  the  hour  may  be  earlier.  The  forms  of  accep- 
tance or  declination  are  the  same  as  for  a  ball. 

If  there  is  any  special  feature  which  is  to  give  char- 
acter to  the  evening,  it  is  best  to  mention  this  fact  in  the 
note  of  invitation.  For  example,  the  words  "musicale," 
"to  take  part  in  dramatic  readings,"  "to  witness  amateur 
theatricals/'  etc.,  should  be  inserted  in  the  note.  If  there 
are  programmes  for  the  entertainment,  be  sure  to  inclose 
one. 

227 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

Invitations  to  a  dinner  party  should  be  issued  in  the 
names  of  both  host  and  hostess  : 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cogswell  request  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
die's  company  at  dinner  on  Thursday,  January  21,  at  six  o'clock. 

An  invitation  to  a  tea  need  not  be  necessarily  so  for- 
mal. It  should  partake  more  of  the  nature  of  a  friendly 
note,  thus  : 

Dear  Miss  Perry  : 

We  have  some  friends  coming  to  drink  tea  with  us  to-morrow ; 
will  you  give  us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  also  ?  We  hope  you 
will  not  disappoint  us. 

Cordially, 

MRS.  HERBERT  CLARK. 

The  invitation  accepted  : 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gile,  with  much  pleasure,  accept  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cogswell's  kind  invitation  for  the  21st  of  January." 

The  invitation  declined  : 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gile  regret  that  the  condition  of  Mrs.  Gile's 
health  will  not  permit  them  to  accept  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cogswell's  kind 
invitation  to  dinner  for  January  21st. 

Acceptance  of  invitation  to  tea  : 

Dear  Mrs.  Clark  : 

It  affords  me  much  pleasure  to  accept  your  kind  invitation  to 

tea  to-morrow. 

Cordially  yours, 

ADELAIDE  PERRY. 
228 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 
Declination  of  invitation  to  tea  : 

Dear  Mrs.  Clark : 

I  regret  extremely  that  a  prior  engagement  prevents  my  ac- 
ceptance of  your  kind  invitation  to  tea  to-morrow. 

Cordially  yours, 

ADELAIDE  PERRY. 

Of  course  the  phraseology  need  not  conform  exactly  to 
that  of  the  above  models.  The  only  uniform  character- 
istics are  a  business-like  brevity,  admitting  nothing  foreign 
to  the  subject,  and  that  they  be  written,  generally,  in  the 
third  person. 

Invitations  should  be  written  on  small  note  paper, 
which  may  have  initial  or  monogram  stamped  upon  it,  or 
they  may  be  engraved. 

The  body  of  the  invitation  should  be  in  the  middle  of 
the  sheet,  the  date  above,  to  the  right,  the  address  below, 
to  the  left. 

The  invitation  must  be  sent  to  the  private  residence  of 
the  person  invited,  never  to  the  place  of  business. 

Should  an  invitation  be  declined,  some  reason  must  be 
given,  the  true  cause  —  a  prior  engagement,  a  contemplated 
journey,  sickness,  domestic  or  business  detention,  or  what- 
ever it  may  be  —  being  stated  clearly  and  concisely,  so  that 
the  hostess  shall  have  no  possible  occasion  for  offense. 
This  refusal  should  be  dispatched  as  early  as  possible,  so 
that  the  hostess  may  have  time  to  supply  the  vacant  place. 

An  invitation  once  accepted,  and  especially  an  engage- 

229 


Correspondence  and  Social  forms. 

ment  made  to  dinner,  should  be  sacredly  observed.  Only 
the  most  imperative  necessity  will  justify  its  being  broken. 
And  in  that  case  the  fact  must  be  communicated  directly 
with  a  full  explanation  to  the  hostess.  If  it  is  too  late  to 
supply  your  place,  it  may  at  least  be  in  time  to  prevent  din- 
ner waiting  on  your  account. 

A  letter  of  acknowledgment  is  written  as  a  response  for 
some  favor  or  gift  bestowed.  Its  essence  is  gratitude  ; 
and,  as  the  expression  of  this  virtue,  it  is  always  obligatory 
upon  the  recipient  of  a  favor  or  special  thoughtfulness 
from  another,  to  send  a  fitting  letter  expressing  his  or  her 
sense  of  gratefulness. 


My  dear  Mrs.  Brown : 

You  can  scarcely  imagine  how  grateful  I  am  for  "Self  Help." 
You  could  not  have  selected  another  book  that  I  would  prize  more 
highly.  Every  chapter  is  a  genuine  help  to  the  young  man  starting 
out  in  life,  and  I  feel  certain  cannot  fail  to  stimulate  me  in  many 
ways  and  in  many  directions.  If  I  can  but  partially  meet  your 
expectations  in  personally  appropriating  the  excellent  advice  and 
suggestions  of  the  book,  I  shall  feel  that  I  have  not  altogether 
failed. 

Believe  me,  with  pleasant  remembrances  and  renewed  gratitude, 

Very  cordially  yours, 

CHARLES  R.  WAITS. 

A  letter  of  condolence  is  a  letter  sympathizing  with  a 
friend    who  has  suffered  loss  or  bereavement.     Unusual 

230 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

care  should  be  exercised  in  the  writing  of  such  letters.    The 
appended  example  is  selected  as  especially  felicitous  : 

Executive  Mansion,  Jan.  13,  1899. 
Dear  Mrs.  Dingley : 

I  have  at  this  moment  learned  of  the  death  of  your  distin- 
guished husband,  and  write  to  express  the  profound  sorrow  which 
both  Mrs.  McKinley  and  myself  feel  for  you  in  your  great  affliction. 
We  mourn  with  you  in  this  overwhelming  loss,  which  will  be  deeply 
felt  by  the  whole  country.  From  my  long  and  intimate  association 
with  him,  it  comes  to  me  as  a  personal  bereavement.  A  great  con- 
solation in  this  sad  hour  is  a  recollection  of  Mr.  Dingley's  exalted 
character,  his  domestic  virtues,  his  quiet,  useful,  distinguished  life, 
and  his  long-continued  and  faithful  service  in  behalf  of  his  fellow- 
citizens,  who  will  always  cherish  his  memory  as  that  of  a  great 
statesman  and  true  patriot. 

With  sympathy,  believe  me  always, 

Sincerely, 

WILLIAM  MCKINLEY. 

Letters  of  Introduction  are  used  to  introduce  one 
friend  to  another  who  lives  at  some  distance.  They  should 
be  short  and  carefully  worded  so  that  the  recipient  may  not 
be  embarrassed  by  having  to  go  over  a  large  amount  of 
written  matter  before  obtaining  the  necessary  information 
regarding  the  person  introduced. 

Letters  of  introduction  are  to  be  regarded  as  certificates 
of  respectability  and  are  therefore  never  to  be  given  where 
you  do  not  feel  sure  on  this  point.  To  send  a  person  of 
whom  you  know  nothing  into  the  confidence  and  family  of 
a  friend  is  unpardonable  recklessness.  In  England,  letters 

231 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

of  introduction  are  called  "tickets  to  soup,"  because  it  is 
generally  customary  to  invite  a  gentleman  to  dine  who 
comes  with  a  letter  of  introduction  to  you.  Such  is 
also  the  practice,  to  some  extent,  in  this  country,  but 
etiquette  here  does  not  make  the  dinner  so  essential  as 
there. 

When  a  gentleman,  bearing  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
you,  leaves  his  card,  you  should  call  on  him  or  send  a  note 
as  early  as  possible.  It  is  a  very  gross  insult  to  treat  a 
letter  of  introduction  with  indifference — it  is  a  slight  to  the 
stranger  as  well  as  to  the  introducer  which  no  subsequent 
attentions  will  cancel.  After  you  have  made  this  call  it  is, 
to  some  extent,  optional  with  you  as  to  what  further  atten- 
tions you  shall  engross  yourself. 

Such  letters  are  generally  left  unsealed,  and  should 
bear  upon  the  envelope,  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner,  the 
name  and  address  of  the  person  introduced,  in  order  that 
the  persons,  on  meeting,  may  greet  each  other  without 
embarrassment.  The  following  will  give  an  idea  of  an 
appropriate  form  for  a  letter  of  introduction  : 

Boston,  Mass.,  Jan.  12,  1899. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Green : 

I  take  pleasure  in  introducing  to  you  my  esteemed  friend,  Miss 
Helen  M.  Redmond,  who  contemplates  spending  some  time  in  your 
city.  Miss  Redmond  is  the  daughter  of  my  old  schoolmate,  Hattie 
Fairfield,  has  just  recently  been  graduated  from  Wellesley,  and  is 
altogether  a  very  charming  girl.  Any  attentions  you  may  find  it 

232 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

possible  to  show  her  during  her  stay  will  be  considered  as  a  personal 
favor  to  myself. 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

MRS.  JOHN  L  GARNER. 
The  envelope  should  bear  the  following  superscription  : 


Mrs.  Robert  L  Green, 

426  Euclid  Avenue, 

Cleveland,  0. 

Introducing 

Miss  Helen  Redmond,  Boston,  Mass. 


Letters  of  Recommendation  are  estimates  of  character, 
attainments,  and  special  worth.  "  It  ought  to  be  the  pride 
of  every  man  who  writes  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  feel 
that  his  letter  will  have  weight,  because  it  is  known  that 
he  recommends  only  the  deserving  and  the  competent,  and 
recommends  truthfully."  A  letter  of  recommendation  is 
closely  related  to  a  letter  of  introduction,  with  the  special 
features  of  elaboration  and  a  specific  intent  in  favor  of  the 
letter  of  recommendation.  The  following  is  an  example  of 

233 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

a  letter  recommending  a  young  man  for  a  fellowship  in  a 
university  : 

Norwich,  Conn.,  Jan.  10,  1899. 
Faculty  of  Arts  and  Sciences, 

Harvard  University. 
Gentlemen  .- 

I  have  understood  that  Mr.  Henry  E.  Sumner,  of  this  city,  is  a 
candidate  for  appointment  to  a  fellowship  in  Harvard  University. 

It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  say  a  word  to  advance  his  purpose 
and  aid  his  appointment.  I  have  known  Mr.  Sumner  all  his  life. 
He  is  a  young  man  of  intelligence,  energy,  and  proper  ambition  for 
scholastic  advancement.  I  remember  him  while  he  was  a  student  at 
our  Academy  here.  He  was  then  devoted  to  the  pursuit  of  scientific 
studies  and  was,  I  believe,  for  a  time  assistant  to  the  Professor  of 
Natural  Sciences,  in  his  lectures  and  experiments.  I  know  also 
that  he  was  graduated  from  Trinity  College  and  received  the  degree 
of  B.A. 

It  seems  that  his  special  line  of  study  has  been  philosophy  in 
its  various  fields  of  thought  and  development.  He  has  a  most 
laudable  ambition  in  this  direction  which  should  be  encouraged  and 
assisted. 

He  has  the  good  will  and  support  of  the  leading  citizens  of  this 
community  in  his  educational  efforts  and  desires ;  and  from  my 
observation  of  his  enterprise  and  unflagging  efforts  for  a  more 
complete  education,  I  consider  him  entitled  to  the  encouragement 
and  practical  aid  of  the  leading  University  of  the  country. 

I  bespeak  kind  consideration  of  Mr.  Sumner's  application. 
Sincerely  yours, 

ALEXANDER  M.  GROVER. 

Letters  of  congratulation  arise  out  of  our  good  will 
toward  others.  Their  occasion  is  varied.  We  may  re- 
joice in  the  marriage  of  a  friend,  his  political,  social,  or 

234 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

professional  preferment,  his  financial  or  literary  success, 
and  what  not  ?  These  are  all  fitting  themes  for  the  con- 
gratulatory letter-  and  may  be  utilized  as  opportunity 
affords  or  fancy  suggests.  A  girl's  congratulatory  letter 
follows  : 

Laurel  Hill  Grove,  June  25,  '9S. 
My  own  dear  Clara : 

Well,   you   are   married !      Oh,   how   this    sounds  !     Another 

claims  you;  another  has  all  your  first  thoughts,  all  your  warmest 

love  and  sympathies ;  and  life  is  no  longer  to  you  what  it  has  been 

—  a   sweet   dream,  only.      It   is   now   something  real,  thoughtful, 

earnest. 

Dear  Clara,  I  weep  for  you  because  you  are  gone  from  among 
us  —  are  a  girl  no  longer;  but  I  know  you  are  happy  in  your  love, 
that  you  have  chosen  wisely,  and  I  have  only  to  say,  God  bless  you 
forever  and  forever  ! 

May  there  be  few  of  life's  storms  and  tempests  for  you, 
but  much  of  its  summer  of  repose  and  sweet  content,  and  may  he 
who  has  won  your  pure  heart  ever  be  worthy  of  it.  I  congratulate 
you,  I  bless  you,  I  pray  for  you. 

Your  loving  friend, 

LILLIAN. 

The  Technique  of  Letter  \Vriting. 

Choice  of  Paper. — For  all  formal  notes,  of  whatever 
nature,  use  heavy,  plain,  white  unruled  paper,  folded  once, 
with  square  envelopes  to  match.  A  neat  initial  letter  at 
the  head  of  the  sheet  is  allowable,  but  nothing  more  than 
this,  unless  it  be  a  monogram  tastefully  executed.  Avoid 
floral  decorations  and  landscapes.  Unless  of  an  elaborate 

235 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

and  costly  design,  they  have  an  appearance  of  cheapness, 
and  are  decidedly  in  bad  taste. 

Arrangement  of  a  Letter. — The  parts. of  a  letter  are  the 
heading,  the  address,  the  salutation,  the  body,  the  compli- 
mentary close,  and  the  signature. 

Begin  at  the  upper  right-hand  corner,  about  one-half 
the  distance  between  the  top  and  the  middle  of  the  page. 

Write  your  street  and  number,  and  the  name  of  the 
city  and  state  in  which  you  reside ;  on  the  next  line, 
directly  underneath,  write  the  date  ;  if  you  reside  in  the 
country,  write  P.  O.  address  and  date  on  the  same  line. 
Begin  back  far  enough  to  avoid  all  appearance  of  crowd- 
ing. Skip  one  line,  and  at  the  left  (leaving  a  comfortable 
margin)  write  the  name  of  your  correspondent ;  on  the  line 
beneath,  his  address  ;  and  on  the  third  line  begin  the  salu- 
tation, "  My  dear  Sir,"  or  "  Dear  Sir,"  flush  with  the  "  Mr." 
The  letter  proper  then  begins  on  the  next  line  below. 

The  letter  so  far  may  be  illustrated  thus  : 

324  Beacon  St.,  Boston,  Mass., 

Jan.  25,  1899. 
Mr.  William  A.  Key  worth, 

Baltimore,  Md. 
My  dear  Sir  : 

The  matter  to  which  you  were  kind  enough  to  draw  my 
attention  in  your  favor  of  recent  date  will  receive  the  action  of  the 
Board  at  its  first  meeting. 

Now  proceed  with  the  body  of  the  letter ;  write  con- 
cisely and  to  the  point,  in  simple,  well  chosen  language. 

23G 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

Keep  the  margins  of  your  letter  even.  Learn  to  write 
straight  on  unruled  paper.  Do  not  make  many  paragraphs. 
Make  a  new  paragraph  only  when  there  is  an  entire  change 
of  subject.  If  you  have  been  writing  about  the  death  of 
your  grandmother  and  have  finished  and  wish  to  say  some- 
thing about  the  weather,  begin  with  a  new  paragraph. 
When  a  new  paragraph  is  necessary,  it  should  begin 
directly  on  a  line  with  the  first  word  of  the  body  of 
the  letter. 

When  the  body  of  the  letter  is  completed,  the  compli- 
mentary close  follows,  and  immediately  precedes  the  signa- 
ture. The  closing  words  should  not  be  more  familiar  than 
the  salutation,  and,  like  the  words  of  the  salutation,  they 
depend  upon  the  relation  of  the  two  persons.  "  Respect- 
fully yours"  "  Very  truly  yours"  "  Very  cordially  yours" 
etc.,  are  the  usual  closing  words  of  formal  correspondence. 
Letters  of  friendship,  of  course,  admit  of  less  formal 
terms.  The  first  word  only  of  the  complimentary  close 
should  begin  with  a  capital.  Following  the  complimentary 
close  comes  the  signature.  Write  your  signature  plainly, 
and  do  not  attempt  oddities  of  penmanship.  Your  friends 
may  be  very  familiar  with  your  dashing  ink  lines,  but  the 
stranger  who  sees  your  name  for  the  first  time  may  have 
considerable  difficulty  in  transforming  it  correctly  into 
readable  script. 

The  form  of  closing  is  indicated  in  the  following  illus- 
tration : 

237 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 


I  trust  you  find  your  professional  and  public  life  both  agreeable 
and  profitable. 


Very  cordially  yours, 


CHARLES  C.  FRICK. 


The  Envelope  Address  or  Superscription.  In  address- 
ing an  envelope,  write  first  the  name,  then  the  post  office, 
then  the  state.  If  additional  matter,  such  as  street,  or 
box,  or  county,  is  necessary,  put  it  at  the  lower  left-hand 
corner.  Even  in  the  case  of  large  cities,  it  is  necessary 
to  write  the  name  of  the  state. 

The  following  is  a  proper  form  : 


Mr.  Frank  T.  Barr, 

Philadelphia, 


3412  PoweltonAve. 


Penn. 


If  special  directions  are  required  they  should  be  put  in 
brackets  to  distinguish  them  from  the  address  proper. 


238 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 
The  square  envelope  is  generally  used  by  women  : 


Miss  Grace  B.  King, 

Springfield, 

Mass. 


107  Thompson  Street. 


When  a  letter  is   sent  by  an   acquaintance  or  friend, 
the   courtesy  should  be    acknowledged    on   the   envelope : 


Kindness  of 
L.  H.  Furnier. 


Mr.  Ralph  D.  Blake, 

Hotel  Vendome, 

Boston. 

239 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

Invitations  are  usually  addressed  as  in  the  following 
form,  unless  they  are  mailed  out  of  town,  in  which  instance 
the  previous  forms  may  be  used : 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  P.  Blair, 


62  Ashland  Place. 


Hints  on  Letter  Writing. 

General  Appearance.  The  excellencies  of  a  nicely  writ- 
ten letter  are  largely  embraced  in  the  word,  neatness.  All 
blots,  erasures,  interlinings,  will  never  be  seen  in  a  neat 
letter.  If  you  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  write  the  wrong 
word,  do  not  draw  your  pen  through  it,  but  take  a  clean 
sheet  and  begin  over  again. 

Spelling  and  Punctuation.  Never  allow  a  letter  to 
leave  you  until  you  have  carefully  read  it  over,  punctuated 

240 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

it  properly,  and  corrected  any  misspelled  words.  Form  the 
habit  of  being  critical.  If  there  is  any  doubt  about  a  word, 
consult  the  dictionary.  If  your  correspondent  is  a  person 
of  culture,  he  will  certainly  notice  your  errors.  You  can- 
not afford  to  be  thought  either  ignorant  or  careless. 

Date.  The  date  consists  of  the  month,  the  day  of  the 
month,  and  the  year.  It  is  not  necessary  to  write  the 
forms,  1st,  7th.  23d,  etc.  ;  the  figures  are  sufficient.  Note 
that  the  proper  contractions  of  the  ordinals  ending  in  2  and 
3  are  2d,  3d,  23d,  23d. 

Degrees.  Scholastic  and  professional  degrees  —  M.A., 
PH.D.,  Litt.D.,  Sc.D.,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.,  M.D,,  D.D.,  etc,,  are 
always  abbreviated  in  addresses.  Titular  addresses  of  high 
rank,  however,  such  as  President,  Governor,  Archbishop, 
etc.,  should  never  be  abbreviated  in  such  use.  It  is 
not  in  good  taste  to  address  a  man  as  Mr.  Charles  King, 
M.A.,  or  Charles  King,  Esq.,  M.D.  Titles  are  multiplied 
on  title-pages  and  catalogues,  but  not  more  than  one  should 
appear  on  letters.  "Esq.,"  as  an  honorary  title,  is  going 
into  general  disuse.  Doctors  of  Divinity  may  be  addressed, 
"Rev.  Dr.  George  T.  Purves  "  or  "Rev.  George  T.  Purves, 
D.D."  Doctors  of  Medicine  may  be  addressed,  "  Dr.  Austin 
Flint"  or  "Austin  Flint,  M.D." 

Figures.  Except  in  writing  dates  and  sums  of  money, 
do  not  use  figures  in  the  body  of  a  letter.  For  example,  it 
is  an  error  to  write,  "Our  school  closes  in  4  weeks." 

Initials.  Many  persons,  in  subscribing  their  name, 

241 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

have  a  fancy  for  giving  only  the  initials  of  their  first  or 
given  name  ;  thus,  H.  Brown,  J.  T.  Smith.  No  one  can 
determine  from  these  signatures  whether  the  writer  is 
Hannah  or  Horace,  James  or  Juliet,  and  the  person 
addressed,  who  is  often  a  stranger,  is  at  a  loss  whether  to 
send  his  reply  to  Mr.  Brown  or  Miss  Brown,  Mr.  Smith  or 
Miss  Smith. 

Junior.  The  abbreviation  of  this  word  is  "Jr."  or 
"  Jun."  Its  place  is  immediately  after  the  name,  as  "Wil- 
liam Johnson,  Jr.,  Esq.''  It  never  takes  the  place  of  any 
title.  The  same  rule  applies  to  Senior.  Both  words  should 
begin  with  capitals. 

Mesdames.  The  contraction  of  this  word  is  Mines. 
It  is  the  plural  of  the  French  Madame,  and  is  used  in 
English  as  the  plural  of  Mistress  (Mrs.).  Any  number  of 
spinsters  associated  in  a  business  firm,  in  a  committee,  or 
in  any  other  co-operative  body,  should  be  addressed  with 
the  pro-title  "  Misses  "  ;  but  if  any  one  of  them  rejoices  in 
the  title  "  Mrs.,"  then  the  pro-title  of  the  body  must  be 
"Mines."  The  salutation  in  any  case  should  be  "  Ladies." 

Miss.  In  youth  the  masculine  of  the  word  is  Master, 
and  in  adult  age  Mister  (Mr.).  This  word,  in  any  form, 
should  never  be  used  as  the  salutation  of  a  letter.  Unlike 
Sir,  Madam,  and  General,  it  cannot  be  used  alone.  In 
addressing  a  young  lady,  one  must  know  either  her  given 
name  or  her  surname  ;  and  with  them  one  may  say  "  Miss 
Mary "  or  "  Miss  Brown."  In  writing  to  strangers  a 

242 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

woman  should,  in  her  signature,  indicate  not  only  her  sex, 
but  also  whether  she  is  a  "  Miss "  or  a  "  Mrs." 

Mister,  Messrs.  The  plural  of  "  Mr."  and  of  "  Es- 
quire "is  "  Messrs."  This  is  a  contraction  of  the  French 
Messieurs  (Gentlemen). 

Mistress.  This,  the  pro-title  of  a  married  woman,  is 
almost  always  used  in  the  abbreviated  form.  "Mrs.,"  and  is 
pronounced  Misses.  It  is  sometimes  coupled  with  the 
husband's  title,  as  "  Mrs.  Dr.  Stone."  This  use  is  conven- 
ient, but  questionable. 

Nota  Bene.  The  abbreviation  is  N.  B.,  and  the  mean- 
ing, "note  specially."  This,  like  the  postscript,  follows  the 
completed  letter. 

Official  Letter.  In  official  correspondence,  it  is  better 
to  address  the  office  than  the  officer,  as  "  To  the  Secretary 
of  the  Interior,"  instead  of  "To  the  Hon.  Cornelius  N.  Bliss, 
Secretary  of  the  Interior." 

Postage  Stamps.  The  proper  place  for  the  stamp  is  at 
the  top  of  the  envelope  at  the  right  margin,  in  the  right- 
hand  upper  corner,  and  above  the  address.  Put  on  as 
many  stamps  as  the  weight  of  the  letter  or  parcel  demands. 

Postscript.  The  abbreviation  P.  S.  is  the  one  in  or- 
dinary use.  The  purpose  of  the  postscript  is  to  add  some 
afterthought  to  the"  letter. 

R.  S.  V.  P.  These  initials  stand  for  Respondez,  s'il 
vous  plait  (Answer,  if  you  please).  They  are  sometimes 
written  at  the  lower  left-hand  corner  of  invitations. 

243 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

Sir.  This  title  may  be  used  apart  from  the  name, 
while  "  Mr."  must  go  with  the  name.  The  plural  is  "  Gen- 
tlemen," not  the  vulgar  contraction  "Gents."  "Dear 
Sirs"  bears  the  same  relation  to  "  Gentlemen"  that  "Dear 
Sir"  does  to  "Sir." 

Titles.  The  preferred  form  of  addressing  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  is  Hon.  William  McKinley, 
Executive  Mansion,  Washington,  D.  C.  ;  the  salutation  is 
simply,  "Dear  Sir."  A  member  of  Congress  is  addressed 
with  the  title  "Honorable,"  abbreviated  to  "Hon.";  thus, 
"  Hon.  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  U.  S.  Senate,  Washington, 
D.  C."  or  "Hon.  Sereno  E.  Payne,  House  of  Representa- 
tives, Washington,  D.  C." 

Superscriptions.  The  following  miscellaneous  titles  for 
use  in  addressing  letters  or  notes  of  invitation  cover  the 
ordinary  field  of  superscriptions  :  His  Excellency  and  Mrs. 
William  McKinley;  Governor  and  Mrs.  Roger  Wolcott ; 
Hon.  and  Mrs.  Melville  W.  Fuller ;  Sir  and  Lady  John 
A.  MacDonald ;  Rev.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  T.  De  Witt  Talmage ; 
Prof,  and  Mrs.  George  T.  Ladd,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  J.  William 
White  ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  H:  Howland. 

Worth  Remembering.  Letters  are  indices  of  the  taste 
as  well  as  of  the  mind  of  the  writer.  They  express  his 
thoughts  and  his  feelings,  their  manner  almost  invariably 
marks  the  spirit  and  temper  of  their  author.  How  impor- 
tant, then,  that  they  should  be  conceived  in  kindness,  tem- 
pered with  truthfulness,  and  spoken  in  earnestness  !  It  is 

244 


Correspondence  and  Social  Forms. 

too  frequently  the  case  that  persons  sit  down  to  write 
"  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment,"  when  some  incident,  or 
piece  of  news,  or  some  moment  of  impatience,  fires  the  pen 
with  a  feeling  which  is  apt  to  find  expression  in  too  hasty 
words  —  which  affect  the  distant  reader  very  unpleasantly, 
or  which  needlessly  wound  the  feelings  and  stir  up  acri- 
mony. It  is  best,  in  almost  every  case,  to  write  when 
thought  and  feeling  have  been  sobered  by  reflection  ;  and 
then  it  is  for  the  best  to  eschew  personalities,  harsh  expres- 
sions, unpleasant  allusions,  for,  once  written,  they  cannot 
be  recalled  —  they  become  matters  of  record.  Therefore 
beware,  and  be  even  overcautious  rather  than  not  cautious 
enough,  for  a  letter  may  serve  as  a  sure  witness  in  cases 
where  you  might  never  suppose  it  could  be  used.  It  may 
live  and  bear  testimony  for  years  —  it  does  not  change  with 
time  or  circumstances  —  it  is  a  warranty  deed  of  whose 
responsibility  you  can  never  be  free. 


245 


CHAPTER  TWENTY. 

Manners    at     Home. 


""^JVT^ANI 

Jtir 


ANNERS  constitute  the  natural  language  in 
which  the  biography  of  every  man  is  written 
in  so  far  as  it  touches  his  relations  with 
his  fellows.  They  are  the  necessary  and  unconscious  ex- 
pression of  our  lives  and  characters. 

Politeness  in  its  essence  is  always  the  same.  The  mere 
rules  of  etiquette  may  vary  with  time  and  place,  but  these 
are  only  different  modes  of  expressing  the  principle  of 
politeness  within  us. 

Politeness  does  not  consist  in  any  system  of  rules,  nor 
in  arbitrary  forms,  but  it  has  a  real  existence  in  the  in- 
stincts of  men  and  women.  The  ever  changing  conditions 
and  circumstances  of  social  life  may  necessitate  modifica- 
tions in  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people,  and  these 
modifications  may  and  do  extend  to  the  domestic  circle. 
Yet  the  principle  of  our  nature  in  which  the  manners,  cus- 
toms, and  rules  of  etiquette  all  had  their  origin,  is  perma- 
nent and  unchangeable.  All  the  various  rules  of  etiquette 
for  the  government  of  society  are  but  notes  and  commen- 

246 


Manners  at  Home. 

taries  on  the  one  great  rule,  "  Love  thy  neighbor  as  thy- 
self." 


IT  has  truthfully  been  said  :  "In  politeness,  as  in  every- 
thing else  connected  with  the  formation  of  character, 
we  are  too  apt  to  begin  on  the  outside,  instead  of  the  inside. 
Instead  of  beginning  with  the  heart  and  trusting  to  that  to 
form  the  manners,  many  begin  with  the  manners  and  leave 
the  heart  to  chance  and  influences.  The  golden  rule  con- 
tains the  very  life  and  soul  of  politeness :  '  Do  unto  others 
as  ye  would  that  they  should  do  unto  you.'  Unless  chil- 
dren and  youth  are  taught,  by  precept  and  example,  to 
abhor  what  is  selfish,  and  prefer  another's  pleasure  and 
comfort  to  their  own,  their  politeness  will  be  entirely  arti- 
ficial, and  used  only  when  interest  and  policy  dictate. 
True  politeness  is  perfect  freedom  and  ease  —  treating 
others  just  as  you  love  to  be  treated.  Nature  is  always 
graceful ;  fashion,  with  all  her  art,  can  never  produce  any- 
thing half  so  pleasing.  The  very  perfection  of  elegance  is 
to  imitate  nature  ;  how  much  better  to  have  the  reality 
than  the  imitation.  Anxiety  about  the  opinions  of  others 
fetters  the  freedom  of  nature  and  tends  to  awkwardness  ; 
all  would  appear  well  if  they  never  tried  to  assume  what 
they  do  not  possess." 

Says  the  author  of  "  The  Illustrated  Manners  Book," 
"  Every  denial  of  or  interference  with  the  personal  free- 

247 


Manners  at  Home. 

dom  or  absolute  rights  of  another  is  a  violation  of  good 
manners.  The  basis  of  all  true  politeness  and  social  en- 
joyment is  the  mutual  tolerance  of  personal  rights." 

La  Bruyere  says,  "Politeness  seems  to  be  a  certain 
care,  by  the  manner  of  our  words  and  actions  to  make 
others  pleased  with  us  and  themselves." 

Madame  Celnart  says,  "  The  grand  secret  of  never  fail- 
ing propriety  of  deportment  is  to  have  an  intention  of 
always  doing  right." 


I  HERE  are  some  persons  who  possess  the  instinct 
^  of  courtesy  in  so  high  a  degree  that  they  seem 
to  require  no  instruction  or  practice  in  order  to  be  per- 
fectly polite,  easy,  and  graceful.  But  most  people  require 
instruction  and  rules  as  to  the  best  and  most  appropriate 
manner  of  expressing  that  which  they  may  feel.  We 
sometimes  find  young  children  with  such  an  aptitude 
for  speech  and  such  a  command  of  language  that  their 
grammar  is  absolutely  faultless.  They  seem  to  have  an 
instinctive  knowledge  of  the  rules  of  grammar  ;  yet  most 
children  without  grammatical  instruction  are  prone  to 
errors. 

Rules  of  etiquette  are  essential,  then,  but  far  less  so 
than  that  cultivation  of  heart  and  character,  to  which  all 
just  rules  of  etiquette  must  trace  their  origin. 


248 


Manners  at  Home. 
IxERSONAL  habits  claim  the  first  place  in  our  consid- 

<T 

V — „  eration  of  home  manners  ;  and  foremost  among 
these  we  would  place  cleanliness.  This  virtue  has  been 
said  to  be  akin  to  godliness,  and  surely  there  is  no  quality 
in  a  human  being  that  more  forcibly  suggests  ungodliness 
than  uncleanliness.  An  unclean  person  is  an  object  of  dis- 
gust to  all  whom  he  meets.  Foulness  of  character  and 
moral  pollution  will  not  isolate  one  from  the  sympathy  of 
his  fellow  men  more  effectually  than  physical  uncleanli- 
ness. We  cannot  long  retain  a  love  for  our  best  and 
dearest  friend  if  he  is  unclean  and  has  a  foul  breath.  We 
may  not  despise  him,  but  our  love  will  necessarily  lose  a 
little  of  its  ardor,  or  at  best  will  change  to  pity.  But  the 
disgust  of  our  friends  is  not  by  any  means  the  worst  result 
of  uncleanliness.  It  is  most  destructive  to  health.  It  is 
like  sand  and  mud  thrown  into  the  wheels  and  gearing  of  a 
delicate  machine.  Few  persons  of  unclean  habits  have 
died  of  old  age.  People  may  sometimes  in  their  old  age 
come  to  be  uncleanly  in  consequence  of  their  infirmity, 
but  during  their  younger  days  they  must  have  been  moder- 
ately clean. 

We  would  not  advise  one  to  adopt  radical  views  on 
this  subject  and  take  a  daily  bath  through  life,  although 
we  doubt  if  such  a  course  would  injure  most  people,  yet  it 
would  probably  be  unnecessary,  and  would  be  a  needless 
waste  of  time.  A  full  bath  once  or  twice  a  week  is,  per- 

249 


Manners  at  Home. 

haps,  all  that  is  necessary  to  escape  the  charge  of  being 
ungodly  in  consequence  of  filth. 

Most  people  do  not  seem  to  consider  the  laws  of  clean- 
liness as  applicable  to  the  head  and  hair.  Even  those  who 
are  clean  in  other  respects  are  very  apt  to  neglect  the  hair. 
Women  and  girls  who  have  long  and  thick  hair  are,  per- 
haps, unaware  how  quickly  it  becomes  filthy  and  emits  a 
disagreeable  odor,  especially  if  it  be  dressed  while  it  is  wet. 
However  cleanly  the  person  may  be  in  other  respects,  the 
hair  will  necessarily  collect  much  dust  and  so  become 
unclean.  No  father,  mother,  or  child  of  good  breeding  will 
allow  the  teeth  or  nails  to  become  unclean.  A  clean  mind 
cannot  dwell  in  an  unclean  body. 

LxERHAPS  in  proportion  to  the  population  there  are  at 
V^_^  the  present  time  fewer  in  the  world  who  are 
addicted  to  the  disgusting  and  health  destroying  habit  of 
smoking  and  chewing  tobacco  than  in  the  days  of  our 
grandfathers,  yet  the  number  even  now  is  appalling. 
Although  it  is  a  vice  too  large  to  be  confined  within  any 
circle  or  sphere  of  life,  yet  it  may,  perhaps,  appropriately 
be  considered  under  the  head  of  home  manners. 

There  are  few,  if  any,  who  will  not  frankly  acknowl- 
edge that  tobacco  in  all  of  its  forms  is  an  unalloyed  evil, 
and  that  they  would  not  desire  their  children  to  become 
addicted  to  its  use.  And  yet  the  most  effectual  way  to 
cause  their  children  to  use  it  certainly  is  to  use  it  in  their 

250 


Manners  at  Home. 

presence.  After  all  that  has  been  said  and  done  by  moral- 
ists and  philanthropists,  we  do  not  presume  to  be  able  to 
say  anything  that  shall  influence  the  acts  of  confirmed 
tobacco  users,  but  if  we  may  be  able  to  give  them  a  few 
hints  by  which  they  shall  the  better  prevent  their  children 
from  falling  into  the  same  habit  we  shall  be  satisfied.  If 
fathers  will  persist  in  smoking  and  chewing  they  should 
surely  try  to  neutralize,  as  far  as  possible,  the  influence  of 
their  example.  This  is  a  dangerous  influence  at  best,  but  it 
may  be  rendered  more  or  less  so  according  to  the  desires 
and  acts  of  the  father.  No  father  should  smoke  frequently 
in  the  presence  of  his  boys,  especially  if  the  fumes  of 
tobacco  are  agreeable  to  them.  But  whenever  he  does  so, 
he  should  do  it  with  some  casual  remark  as  to  the  folly  of 
the  habit.  He  should  aim  to  convey  the  impression  that 
he  is  its  slave,  and  that  he  would  give  worlds  to  be  free. 
It  is  possible  that  in  this  way  the  very  evil  may  be  made  a 
means  of  good  to  the  child,  for  thus  he  may  early  come  to 
realize  the  truth  that  man  cannot  always  trust  himself 
and  that  it  is  dangerous  to  trifle  with  any  vice  lest  it  bind 
him  with  a  chain  of  iron. 

HJ  E  who  feels  that  because  he  is  at  home  he  may  act  as 
V_    he  chooses  and  throw  off  all  restraints  of  polite- 
ness and  good  manners  generally  finds  that  when  he  comes 
to  put  on  these  restraints  for  special  occasions  they  don't 
fit,  and  it  becomes  evident  that  the  harness  wasn't  made 

251 


Manners  at  Home. 

for  him.  Even  the  children  can  see  that  his  manner  is 
entirely  artificial  and  is  not  his  own.  Such  men  when  they 
are  occasionally  compelled  to  go  into  society  experience 
pain  and  embarrassment  enough  to  outweigh  the  cost  of 
being  decorous  and  mannerly  at  home. 

If  parents  expect  their  children  to  be  favorites  in 
society,  they  must  teach  them  good  manners.  The  world's 
fortress  that  has  stood  the  bombardment  of  many  a  genius 
has  fallen  under  the  more  subtle  force  of  good  manners. 
There  is  no  way  to  teach  children  good  manners  except  by 
example.  It  is  an  art  that  cannot  be  taught  to  advantage 
theoretically.  The  tactics  of  courtesy  can  never  be 
mastered  without  field  practice.  If  husbands  are  not 
courteous  to  their  wives,  the  brothers  will  not  be  courteous 
to  their  'sisters,  nor  when  they  in  turn  become  husbands 
will  they  be  courteous  to  their  wives.  Every  man  owes  to 
his  wife  and  to  his  daughter  at  least  the  same  considera- 
tions of  civility  and  politeness  that  he  owes  to  any  other 
woman. 


phase  of  home  manners  is  presented  in  the 
V_  attitude  of  children  toward  their  parents.  Amer- 
ican children  have  not,  as  a  rule,  that  deference  and  rever- 
ence for  their  parents  which  they  should  have.  From  the 
author  of  "  How  to  Behave,"  we  quote  the  following 
forcible  description  of  the  characteristics  of  the  American 

child:- 

252 


Manners  at  Home. 

"  Young  America  cannot  brook  restraint,  has  no  con- 
ception of  superiority,  and  reverences  nothing.  His  ideas 
of  equality  admit  neither  limitation  nor  qualification.  He 
is  born  with  a  full  comprehension  of  his  own  individual 
rights,  but  is  slow  in  learning  his  social  duties.  Through 
whose  fault  comes  this  state  of  things  ?  American  boys 
and  girls  have  naturally  as  much  good  sense  and  good 
nature  as  those  of  any  other  nation,  and  when  well  trained 
no  children  are  more  courteous  and  agreeable.  The  fault 
lies  in  their  education.  In  the  days  of  our  grandfathers, 
children  were  taught  manners  at  school,  a  rather  rude, 
backward  sort  of  manners,  it  is  true,  but  better  than  the 
no  manners  at  all  of  the  present  day.  We  must  blame 
parents  in  this  matter  rather  than  their  children.  If  you 
would  have  your  children  grow  up  beloved  and  respected 
by  their  elders  as  well  as  their  contemporaries,  teach  them 
good  manners  in  their  childhood.  The  young  sovereign 
should  first  learn  to  obey,  that  he  may  be  the  better  fitted 
to  command  in  his  turn." 

He  who  does  not  love,  respect,  and  reverence  his 
mother  is  a  boor,  whatever  his  pretensions  may  be.  He 
who  can  allow  any  other  woman  to  crowd  from  his  heart 
the  love  for  his  mother  does  not  deserve  the  affection  of 
anv  woman. 


253 


Manners  at  Home. 

I  INE  of  the  evil  habits  exhibited  for  the  most  part  at 
home  is  that  known  as  "sulking."  This  not  only 
spoils  the  comfort  of  the  whole  family  for  the  time,  but 
the  habit  grows  stronger  with  age,  until  it  often  ruins  the 
person's  disposition  and  prospect  of  happiness  in  life.  We 
have  seen  cases  where  this  disposition  to  sulk  had  pro- 
duced such  effects  upon  the  character  that  the  victims 
were  actually  objects  of  pity.  When  the  sulky  child  goes 
out  into  the  world  with  his  vice  he  will  not  find  a  mother 
who  will  patiently  wait  until  his  sulks  have  passed  away  ; 
but  society  will  desert  him  and  leave  him  alone  in  his 
bitterness. 

But  the  opposite  condition  of  perpetual  levity  is  to  be 
avoided  as  fatal  to  real  earnestness  and  depth  of  character. 
As  a  rule,  the  ludicrous  is  seen  on  the  surface  of  things, 
and  he  who  is  always  finding  something  to  excite  laughter 
is  generally  of  a  superficial  mind.  The  deep  mind  is  more 
apt  to  overlook  this  surface  coat.  It  is  true  there  is  noth- 
ing so  good  for  the  health  of  body  or  mind  as  hearty  laugh- 
ter, and  he  who  cannot  appreciate  a  good  joke  should  be 
pitied.  And  yet  the  excess  of  this  good  thing  does  surely 
indicate,  if  not  positive  weakness,  a  want  of  habitual 
action  in  the  more  serious  faculties  of  the  mind. 

We  supplement  this  chapter  with  the  following  rules 
for  the  government  of  conduct  in  society.  They  should  be 
read  and  re-read  by  the  members  of  the  family  till  they  are 
thoroughly  mastered,  as  the  student  would  master  the 

254 


Manners  at  Home. 

rules  of  grammar.  It  is  not  enough  to  read  them  as  we 
would  read  a  novel,  from  mere  curiosity,  but  they  should 
be  studied  with  a  view  to  being  applied. 

So  much  has  been  written  on  the  subject  of  etiquette 
and  conduct  that  it  is  of  course  impossible  for  us  to  say 
anything  new.  The  most  we  have  attempted  is  to  recast 
and  adapt  to  the  special  needs  of  the  times  that  which  has 
already  been  written. 

We  have  consulted  the  best  and  most  unquestionable 
authorities,  and  for  each  and  every  phase  of  life  have  tried 
to  give  a  few  rules  of  special  importance.  So  that  the  list 
itself  is  virtually  a  condensed  volume  on  the  subject  of 
etiquette,  no  vital  rule  of  conduct  being  omitted. 


I  HE  golden  rule  is  the  embodiment  of  all  true  polite- 

^  ness. 

Always  allow  an  invalid,  an  elderly  person,  or  a  lady 
to  occupy  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room,  and  also 
to  accommodate  themselves  with  reference  to  light  and 
temperature. 

Never  make  the  weakness  or  misfortunes  of  another 
the  occasion  of  mirth  or  ridicule. 

Always  respect  a  social  inferior,  not  in  a  condescend- 
ing way,  but  with  the  feeling  that  he  is  as  good  as  you. 

Never  answer  a   serious  question  in  jest,  nor  a  civil 

question  rudely. 

255 


Manners  at  Home. 

The  religious  opinions  of  all,  even  those  of  infidels, 
should  be  respected,  for  religious  tolerance  is  not  only  nec- 
essary to  good  manners,  but  is  a  cardinal  idea  in  the  doc- 
trine of  human  liberty. 

A  true  gentleman  or  lady  is  always  quiet  and  unassum- 
ing. The  person  of  real  worth  can  afford  to  be  unassum- 
ing, for  others  will  assume  for  him. 

To  laugh  at  one's  own  jokes  will  take  the  temper  out  of 
the  keenest  wit.  It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  he 
should  maintain  a  serious  and  pharisaical  countenance ;  he 
may  laugh  mildly  in  sympathy  with  those  who  appreciate 
his  wit,  provided  he  is  not  the  first  to  laugh. 

Too  great  familiarity  toward  a  new  acquaintance  is  not 
only  in  bad  taste,  but  is  fatal  to  the  continuance  of  friend- 
ship. 

The  most  refined  and  cultivated  always  seek  to  avoid, 
both  in  their  dress  and  in  their  behavior,  the  appearance 
of  any  desire  to  attract  attention.  Extremes  in  fashion 
and  flashy  colors  are  marks  of  a  low  degree  of  cultiva- 
tion. Savages  are  never  pleased  by  the  finer  blendings 
either  in  color  or  sound. 

When  in  company  talk  as  little  as  possible  of  yourself 
or  of  the  business  or  profession  in  which  you  are  engaged, 
at  least,  do  not  be  the  first  to  introduce  these  topics. 

Every  species  of  affectation  is  absolutely  disgusting. 
It  is  also  so  easily  detected  that  no  one  but  an  actor  can 
conceal  it. 

256 


Manners  at  Home. 

When  it  is  necessary  to  call  upon  a  business  man  in  the 
hours  of  business,  if  possible  select  that  hour  in  which  you 
have  reason  to  believe  he  is  least  engaged.  And  even  then 
talk  only  of  business  unless  he  should  introduce  other  top- 
ics. Unless  the  person  sustains  some  other  relation  to  you 
than  that  of  business,  do  not  stop  a  moment  after  you 
have  completed  your  business. 

If  you  have  wronged  anyone,  not  only  the  rules  of 
etiquette,  but  the  most  obvious  interpretation  of  moral 
obligation,  requires  you  to  be  willing  and  quick  to  apolo- 
gize. And  never,  under  any  circumstances,  refuse  to  ac- 
cept an  honest  apology  for  an  offense. 

Pay  whatever  attention  you  choose  to  your  dress  and 
personal  appearance  before  you  enter  society,  but  after- 
wards expel  the  subject  from  your  mind  and  do  not  allow 
your  thoughts  to  dwell  upon  it. 

Never  enter  a  house,  even  your  own,  without  removing 
your  hat. 

Do  not  try  to  be  mysterious  in  company,  by  alluding, 
in  an  equivocal  manner,  to  those  things  which  only  one  or 
two  of  the  company  understand. 

Never  boast  of  your  own  knowledge,  and  do  not,  either 
directly  or  indirectly,  accuse  another  of  a  lack  of  knowl- 
edge. Do  not  even  manifest  your  knowledge  of  any  par- 
ticular subject  in  such  a  way  and  under  such  circum- 
stances as  will  cause  another  to  appear  to  poor  advantage. 

Never  leave  a  friend  suddenly  while  engaged  in  an 

257 


Manners  at  Home. 

interesting  conversation.  Wait  till  there  is  a  pause  or  a 
turn  in  the  conversation. 

Do  not  hesitate  to  offer  any  assistance  that  the  occa- 
sion may  seem  to  demand,  to  a  woman,  even  though  she 
may  be  a  stranger. 

In  company  mention  your  husband  or  wife  with  the 
same  degree  of  respect  with  which  you  would  speak  of  a 
stranger,  and  reserve  all  pet  names  for  times  and  places  in 
which  they  will  be  better  appreciated. 

Never  violate  the  confidence  of  another.  Do  not  seek 
to  avenge  a  wrong  by  revealing  the  secrets  of  an  enemy, 
which  were  told  to  you  while  he  was  a  friend. 

Always  dispose  of  your  time  as  if  your  watch  were  too 
fast ;  you  will  then  have  a  few  moments'  margin  in  the  ful- 
fillment of  all  engagements.  To  break  an  engagement 
almost  always  injures  you  more  than  the  other  party. 

Treat  a  woman,  whatever  may  be  her  social  or  moral 
rank,  as  though  she  were  a  princess. 

Always  show  a  willingness  to  converse  with  women  on 
any  topic  that  they  may  select. 

Do  not  ask  questions  concerning  the  private  affairs  of 
your  friends,  nor  be  curious  in  regard  to  the  business  rela- 
tions of  anyone. 

Wrangling  and  contradictions  are  not  only  violations 
of  etiquette,  but  they  also  violate  the  requirements  of  tact, 
since  they  defeat  the  very  purpose  of  respectful  discussion, 

viz.,  to  convince. 

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Manners  at  Home. 

Return  a  borrowed  book,  when  you  have  finished  read- 
ing it,  without  delay.  A  library  made  up  of  borrowed 
books  is  a  disgraceful  possession. 

When  entering  a  room  bow  slightly  to  the  whole  com- 
pany, but  to  no  one  in  particular. 

Make  the  comfort  and  welfare  of  others  a  prime  object 
of  your  life,  and  you  will  thereby  fulfill  all  the  require- 
ments of  etiquette. 

In  addition  to  the  foregoing,  we  present  another  list  of 
rules  which  ought  to  be  of  special  interest  to  every  one  not 
only  on  account  of  their  intrinsic  worth,  but  also  on 
account  of  their  origin,  for  their  author  was  George 
Washington.  He  called  them  his  "Rules  of  Civility  and 
Decent  Behavior  in  Company/'  They  were  written  at  the 
age  of  thirteen,  and  have  been  termed  "  Washington's 
Maxims." 

1.  Every  action  in  company  ought  to  be  with  some  sign  of  re- 
spect to  those  present. 

2.  In  the  presence  of  others  sing  not  to  yourself  with  a  hum- 
ming voice,  nor  drum  with  your  lingers  or  feet. 

3.  Speak  not  when  others  speak,  sit  not  when  others  stand,  and 
walk  not  when  others  stop. 

4.  Turn  not  your  back  to  others,  especially  in  speaking ;    jog 
not  the  table  or  desk  on  which  another  reads  or  writes ;  lean  not  on 
anyone. 

5.  Be  no  flatterer,  neither   play  with  anyone  that  delights   not 
to  be  played  with. 

6.  Read   no   letters,  books,  or   papers   in    company ;  but  when 


Manners  at  Home. 

there  is  a  necessity  for  doing  it,  you  must  not  leave.  Come  not 
near  the  books  or  writings  of  anyone  so  as  to  read  them  unasked ; 
also  look  not  nigh  when  another  is  writing  a  letter. 

7.  Let  your  countenance    be   pleasant,  but  in  serious   matters 
somewhat  grave. 

8.  Show  not  yourself  glad  at  the  misfortune  of  another,  though 
he  were  your  enemy. 

1).  They  that  are  in  dignity  or  office  have  in  all  places  prece- 
dency, but  whilst  they  are  young,  they  ought  to  respect  those  that 
are  their  equals  in  birth  or  other  qualities,  though  they  have  no 
public  charge. 

10.  It  is  good  manners  to  prefer  them  to  whom  we  speak  before 
ourselves,  especially  if  they  be  above  us. 

1 1 .  Let  your  discourse  with  men  of  business  be  short  and  com- 
prehensive. 

12.  In  visiting  the  sick  do  not  presently  play  the  physician  if 
you  be  not  knowing  therein. 

13.  In  writing  or  speaking,   give  to  every  person  his  due -title 
according  to  his  degree  and  the  custom  of  the  place. 

14.  Strive    not  with  your   superiors    in   argument,   but   always 
submit  your  judgment  to  others  with  modesty. 

15.  Undertake   not  to  teach  your  equal  in  the  art  he  himself 
professes  ;  it  savors  arrogancy. 

16.  When  a  man  does  all   he  can,  though  it  succeeds  not  well, 
blame  not  him  that  did  it. 

17.  Being   to  advise  or  reprehend  anyone,  consider  whether  it 
ought  to  be  in  public  or  in  private,  presently  or  at  some  other  time, 
also  in  what  terms   to  do  it ;  and  in   reproving   show  no   signs  of 
choler,  but  do  it  with  sweetness  and  mildness. 

18.  Mock  not  nor  jest  at   anything  of  importance  ;  break   no 
jests  that  are  sharp  or  biting,  and,  if  you  deliver  anything  witty  or 
pleasant,  abstain  from  laughing  thereat  yourself. 


Manners  at  Home. 

19.  Wherein  you  reprove  another  be   unblamable  yourself,  for 
example  is  more  prevalent  than  precept. 

20.  Use  no  reproachful  language  against  anyone,  neither  curses 
nor  revilings. 

21.  Be  not  hasty  to  believe  flying  reports  to  the  disparagement 
of  anyone. 

22.  In  your  apparel  be  modest,  and  endeavor  to  accommodate 
nature  rather   than    procure   admiration.     Keep   to   the   fashion  of 
your  equals,  such  as  are  civil  and  orderly  with  respect  to  time  and 
place. 

23.  Play  not  the  peacock,  looking  everywhere  about  you  to  see 
if  you  be  well  decked,  if  your  shoes  fit  well,  if  your  stockings  set 
neatly  and  clothes  handsomely. 

24.  Associate  yourself  with  men  of  good  quality  if  you  esteem 
your  reputation,  for  it  is  better  to  be  alone  than  in  bad  company. 

25.  Let  your  conversation  be  without  malice  or  envy,  for  it  is  a 
sign   of  a  tractable  and   commendable  nature ;    and  in  all  cases  of 
passion  admit  reason  to  govern. 

26.  Be  not  immodest  in  urging  your  friend  to  discover  a  secret. 

27.  Utter  not   base    and  frivolous  things  amongst  grown  and 
learned  men,  nor  very  difficult  questions  or   subjects   amongst  the 
ignorant,  nor  things  hard  to  be  believed. 

28.  Speak   not  of  doleful   things   in  time  of  mirth  nor  at  the 
table  ;  speak  not  of  melancholy  things,  as  death  and  wounds ;  and 
if   others  mention  them,  change,  if  you   can,  the   discourse.     Tell 
not  your  dreams  but  to  your  intimate  friends. 

29.  Break  not  a  jest  when  none  take  pleasure  in  mirth.     Laugh 
not   aloud,  nor  at  all  without   occasion.     Deride    no  man's  misfor- 
tunes, though  there  seem  to  be  some  cause. 

30.  Speak   not   injurious   words,    neither  in   jest   nor   earnest. 
Scoff  at  none  although  they  give  occasion. 

31.  Be   not  forward,  but   friendly  and  courteous,   the   first   to 

261 


Manners  at  Home. 

salute,  hear,  and  answer,  and  be  not  pensive  when  it  is  time  to  con- 
verse. 

32.  Detract  not  from  others,  but  neither  be  excessive  in  com- 
mending. 

33.  Go  not  thither  where  you  know  not  whether  you  shall  be 
welcome  or  not.     Give  not  advice  without  being  asked ;  and  when 
desired,  do  it  briefly. 

34.  If  two  contend  together,  take  not  the  part  of  either  uncon- 
strained, and  be  not  obstinate  in  your  opinions  ;  in  things  indifferent 
be  of  the  major   side. 

35.  Reprehend  not  the  imperfection  of  others,  for  that  belongs 
to  parents,  masters,  and  superiors. 

36.  Gaze  not  on  the  marks  or  blemishes  of  others,  and  ask  not 
how   they  came.     What  you    may  speak  in   secret   to   your   friend 
deliver  not  before  others. 

37.  Speak  not  in  an  unknown  tongue  in  company,  but  in  your 
own  language  ;  and  that  as  those  of  quality  do,  and  not  as  the  vul- 
gar.    Sublime  matters  treat  seriously 

38.  Think  before  you  speak  ;  pronounce  not  imperfectly,  nor 
bring  out  your  words  too  heartily,   but  orderly  and  distinctly. 

39.  When  another  speaks,  be    attentive  yourself,  and   disturb 
not  the  audience.      If  any  hesitate  in  his  words,  help  him  not,   nor 
prompt  him  without  being  desired  ;  interrupt  him  not,  nor  answer 
him  till  his   speech  be  ended. 

40.  Treat  with  men  at  fit  times  about  business,  and  whisper  not 
in  the  company  of  others. 

41.  Make   no   comparisons  ;    and   if   any   of  the    company   be 
commended  for  any  brave  act  of  virtue,  commend   not  another  for 
the  same. 

42.  Be  not  apt  to  relate  news  if  you  know  not  the  truth  thereof. 
In  discoursing  of  things  that  you  have  heard,  name  not  your  author 
always.     A  secret  discover  not. 

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Manners  at  Home. 

43.  Be  not  curious  to  know  the  affairs  of  others,  neither  ap- 
proach to  those  who  speak  in  private. 

44.  Undertake  not  what  you  cannot  perform  ;  but  be  careful  to 
keep  your  promise. 

45.  When  you  deliver  a  matter,  do  it  without  passion  and  indis- 
cretion, however  mean  the  person  may  be  you  do  it  to. 

46.  When  your  superiors  talk  to  anybody,  hear  them ;  neither 
speak  nor  laugh. 

47.  In  disputes  be  not  so  desirous  to  overcome  as  not  to  give 
liberty  to  each  one  to  deliver  his  opinion,  and  submit  to  the  judg- 
ment of  the  major  part,  especially  if  they  are  judges  of  the  dispute. 

48.  Be  not  tedious  in  discourse,  make  not  many  digressions, 
nor  repeat  often  the  same  matter  of  discourse. 

49.  Speak  no  evil  of  the  absent,  for  it  is  unjust. 

50.  Be  not  angry  at  table,  whatever  happens  ;  and  if  you  have 
reason  to  be  so  show  it  not ;  put  on  a  cheerful  countenance,  espe- 
cially if  there  be  strangers,  for  good  humor  makes  one  dish  a  feast. 

51.  Set  not  yourself  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table;  but  if  it 
be  your  due,  or  the  master  of  the  house  will  have  it  so,  contend  not, 
lest  you  should  trouble  the  company. 

52.  When  you   speak  of  God  or  his  attributes,  let  it  be  seri- 
ously, in  reverence  and  honor,  and  obey  your  natural  parents. 

53.  Let  your  recreations  be  manful,  not  sinful. 

54.  Labor  to  keep  alive  in  your  breast  that  little  spark  of  celes- 
tial fire  called  conscience. 

"  Few  to  good  breeding  make  a  just  pretense  ; 
Good  breeding  is  the  blossom  of  good  sense  ; 
The  last  result  of  an  accomplish 'd  mind, 
With  outward  grace,  the  body's  virtue,  join'd." 


263 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE. 


Kamily   Secrets. 


(ATTIRE'S  most  beneficent  operations  are  hidden 
from  our  sight  beneath  the  surface  of  things. 
The  germination  of  all  life  is  under  a  veil. 
She  will  not  let  a  seed  sprout  until  she  has  buried  it.  All 
Nature  is  one  great  hall  of  free-masonry,  where  every 
movement  is  at  the  gesture  of  a  spectral  hand.  In  secrecy 
and  illusion  she  is  an  adept. 

Not  only  does  she  hide  her  operations  from  our  sight, 
but  she  actually  gives  false  signals.  She  is  an  accom- 
plished ventriloquist,  and  we  cannot  tell  whence  come  her 
most  characteristic  sounds.  The  cry  of  the  new-born  in- 
fant comes  to  us  from  the  thicket,  and  at  the  birthday 
party  of  a  child  the  irresponsible  parrot  becomes  the  orator 
of  the  day.  The  mocking-bird,  in  droll  mimicry,  utters  the 
wail  of  sorrow  and  the  laugh  of  joy.  The  spider  touched, 
feigns  death.  The  earthquake  is  prone  to  imitate  the  thun- 
der. The  voices  of  the  night  are  interchangeable.  The 
stupid  owl  steals  the  voice  of  sorrow,  and  the  breeze  whis- 
pers every  sentiment.  The  sky  presents  the  delusion  of  a 

264 


Family  Secrets. 

blue  tent  cover,  while  every  tree  that  looks  into  the  mirror 
of  the  stream  sees  itself  a  broken  staff.  We  look  upon  the 
flat  stretched  canvas,  and  through  the  cunning  jugglery  of 
light  and  shade  it  becomes  a  living,  breathing  reality. 

Yet  who  shall  dare  prove  Nature  a  deception  and  face 
the  corollary  ?  A  work  is  never  better  than  its  author, 
and  if  we  regard  Nature  as  the  work  of  God,  the  awfulness 
of  that  corollary  should  surely  cause  us  to  review  our 
thoughts. 

Nature  is  not  a  liar.  No  act  of  hers  falls  under  any 
possible  definition  of  a  lie.  She  simply  possesses  the  in- 
stinct of  secrecy. 

Mo  ONESTY  compels  no  man  to  stop  on  the  highway  to 
V_  explain  his  errand,  and  if  curious  idlers  inquire  of 
him,  there  is  no  phrase  in  honesty's  law  that  bids  him  di- 
vulge a  rightful  secret.  And  if  the  man  perceives  that  he 
is  watched  by  these  idlers,  he  may,  with  truth's  approval, 
take  the  first  cross  road  that  leads  him  in  the  opposite 
direction  from  the  object  of  his  errand.  Perhaps  the  idler's 
highest  good  demands  that  the  secret  be  withheld  from 
him. 

Now  let  us  see  if  these  limitations  do  not  cover  every 
license  of  Nature. 

For  some  wise  purpose  most  of  Nature's  secrets  are 
withheld  from  us.  We  may  believe  that  to  know  them 
would  harm  us.  Perhaps  our  pride  demands  that  they  be 

265 


Family  Secrets. 

withheld,  or  perhaps  again  the  scheme  of  development  and 
spirit  growth  demands  it.  However  this  may  be,  we  know 
that  most  of  the  secrets  are  veiled.  We  are  idle  ques- 
tioners, and  often  compel  her  to  take  cross  roads,  or  to 
walk  in  brooks  to  destroy  the  scent  of  her  trail.  In  every 
case  she  but  withholds  a  rightful  secret.  The  purpose  of 
the  mocking-bird  is  simply  to  defeat  our  pride  when  we 
claim  to  know  what  Nature  is  about  by  the  intonations  of 
her  voice.  She  hides  the  knowledge  of  disease  from  us 
while  she  attempts  to  cure  it  without  frightening  us.  To 
gaze  forever  on  a  ghastly  skeleton  would  sicken  us  of  life. 
Hence  Nature,  with  cunning  and  illusory  fingers,  has  bur- 
ied deep  beneath  her  cortex  of  flesh  the  awful  suggestion 
of  death. 

I  HUS,   while  we  have  freed  Nature  from  our    own 

^  implied  charge  of  falsehood,  we  have  yet  learned 
from  her  a  grand  lesson.  We  have  learned  that  she  is  the 
great  advocate  of  family  secrets. 

Secrecy  is  one  of  the  first  duties  that  the  domestic  rela- 
tion imposes.  It  is  one  of  the  cardinal  necessities  to  the 
existence  of  the  family.  Every  family  has  its  secrets  and 
must  have  them  while  it  is  a  family.  To  publish  the 
secrets  of  any  family  would  be  to  dissipate  that  family. 

The  sacred  right  to  secrecy  transcends  all  etiquette. 
No  rule  of  manners  can  compel  one  to  divulge  one  secret 
of  his  domestic  relations.  Without  confidence  the  marriage 

2G6 


\ 

Family  Secrets. 

bond  would  be  a  rope  of  sand.  But  secrecy  is  the  only 
condition  that  can  maintain  confidence. 

It  is  the  custom  of  many  married  people  to  make  no 
secret  of  their  love,  and  on  all  public  occasions  they  seek, 
in  a  most  sickening  manner,  to  display  their  affection. 
This  is  not  only  a  violation  of  good  taste,  but  it  is  a  viola- 
tion of  the  instincts  of  human  nature  as  well.  The  senti- 
ment of  love  in  all  its  phases  seeks  instinctively  the  haunts 
of  privacy.  Whether  in  its  first  pure  awakening  in  the 
breast  of  youth  and  maiden,  or,  in  its  maturer  and  grander 
form,  when  crowned  with  fruits  immortal,  it  alike  retreats 
from  the  gaze  of  those  who  cannot  sympathize. 

Love  is  poetical  until  we  see  it  manifested  in  others. 
It  then  becomes  disgusting,  and  those  who  indulge  in 
public  demonstrations  are  always  the  objects  of  ridicule. 

Not  that  a  man  should  feign  coldness  or  indifference 
toward  his  wife  in  public.  This  is  not  at  all  the  import  of 
what  we  have  said.  Husbands  and  wives  should  appear 
tender  and  considerate  of  each  other  in  public  places.  It 
is  perfectly  proper  that  their  manner  should  proclaim  their 
relation.  But  true  love  between  husband  and  wife  de- 
mands a  more  engrossing  attention,  the  tenderer  endear- 
ments and  caresses  which  society  in  the  aggregate  cannot 
understand.  They  constitute  a  language  that  only  love 
can  understand.  Hence  Nature  has  kindly  given  to  us  a 
disposition  to  conceal  them. 

The  fact  that  the  heart  shrinks  from  the  public  mani- 

267 


Family  Secrets. 

festation  of  affection  is  the  highest  compliment  to  its 
innocence  and  purity,  a  proof  that  it  is  above  the  compre- 
hension of  the  world's  common  moods.  And  on  this  fact  is 
based  the  philosophy  of  family  secrets. 

The  family  is  the  outgrowth  of  love,  and  love's  eternal 
condition  is  secrecy.  Hence  the  family  relation  in  all  its 
phases  is  more  or  less  intimately  connected  with  the 
instinct  of  secrecy.  It  is  a  native  impulse  of  every  high- 
minded  person  to  keep  those  facts  a  secret  which  pertain  to 
the  history  of  his  family  —  even  those  facts  which  in  their 
nature  do  not  demand  secrecy. 

NATURE  hides  the  embryo  of  every  seed,  and  carries 
on  in  the  dark  the  process  by  which  she  rears  and 
trains  the  little  plant,  and  the  mother  should  follow 
Nature's  example  in  rearing  and  training  her  child.  Chil- 
dren punished,  or  in  any  way  disciplined  in  the  presence  of 
others,  are  almost  always  made  worse  thereby,  instead  of 
better.  That  intuitive  confidence  and  mutual  knowledge 
that  exist  between  mother  and  child  are  so  delicate  in  their 
nature  that  the  presence  of  a  third  party,  even  if  it  be  a 
brother  or  a  sister,  is  sometimes  fatal  to  their  proper 
action. 

Parents  should  never  censure  their  children,  nor  even 
speak  disparagingly  of  them,  in  the  presence  of  strangers 
or  visitors. 

268 


Family  Secrets. 

I  HERE  are  certain  private  rights  which  belong  to  each 
V.    member  of  a  family,  and  should  not  be  violated, 
and  yet  their  rights  are  too  often  disregarded. 

Every  one  naturally  holds  back  the  expression  of  the 
greater  parts  of  his  thoughts.  For  every  thought  that  we 
express  we  have  a  thousand  that  never  pass  the  limits 
of  our  own  consciousness.  This,  of  course,  we  feel  to  be  a 
natural  right,  and  when  it  is  encroached  upon,  we  instinc- 
tively act  upon  the  defensive.  When  one's  sphere  of  pri- 
vacy is  trespassed  upon  by  another,  there  is  a  spontaneous 
and  joint  action  of  the  inventive  and  secretive  functions, 

which  results  in  an  attempt  to  deceive.     Hence  the  habit 

• 
of  falsehood  may  be  produced  in  a  child  by  not  conceding 

to  him  the  natural  right  of  privacy.  We  quote  the  fol- 
lowing from  the  author  of  "  The  Illustrated  Manners 
Book":- 

"  One  of  the  rights  commonly  trespassed  upon,  consti- 
tuting a  violent  breach  of  good  manners,  is  the  right  of 
privacy,  or  of  the  control  of  one's  own  person  and  affairs. 
There  are  places  in  this  country  where  there  exists  scarcely 
the  slightest  recognition  of  this  right.  A  man  or  woman 
bolts  into  your  house  without  knocking.  No  room  is  sacred 
unless  you  lock  the  door,  and  an  exclusion  would  be  an 
insult.  Parents  intrude  upon  children  and  children  upon 
parents  !  The  husband  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  enter  his 
wife's  room,  and  the  wife  would  feel  injured  if  excluded 
by  night  or  day  from  her  husband's.  It  is  said  that  they 

269 


Family  Secrets. 

even  open  each  other's  letters,  and  claim  as  a  right  that 
neither  should  have  any  secrets  from  the  other. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  such  a  state  of  intense 
barbarism  in  a  civilized  country,  such  a  denial  of  the  sim- 
plest and  most  primitive  rights,  such  an  utter  absence  of 
delicacy  and  good  manners  ;  and  had  we  not  been  assured 
on  good  authority  that  such  things  exist,  we  should  con- 
sider any  suggestion  respecting  them  needless  and  imper- 
tinent. 

"  Every  person  in  a  dwelling  should,  if  possible,  have 
a  room  as  sacred  from  intrusion  as  the  house  is  to  the 
family.  No  child  grown  to  the  years  of  discretion  should 
be  outraged  by  intrusion.  No  relation,  however  intimate, 
can  justify  it.  So  the  trunks,  boxes,  papers,  and  letters  of 
every  individual,  locked  or  unlocked,  sealed  or  unsealed, 
are  sacred." 

T—*  • 

I  HIS  matter  of  privacy  can,  no  doubt,  be  carried  to 

^  excess,  and  whether  we  indorse  all  of  the  foregoing 
or  not,  it  certainly  contains  much  truth.  The  tendency  of 
civilization  has  always  been  toward  the  development  of 
individuality  and  private  interest.  In  the  rude  civilization 
of  frontier  life,  one  room  serves  as  parlor,  kitchen,  and 
sleeping  room  for  the  whole  family,  and  all  private  inter- 
ests within  the  family  are  ignored.  This  principle  is  still 
more  forcibly  illustrated  by  comparing  savage  with  civil- 
ized life.  Although  civilization  tends  to  the  multiplication 

270 


Family  Secrets. 

and  development  of  social  institutions,  yet  it  tends  still 
more  to  the  development  of  the  individual.  It  brings  the 
aggregate  interest  into  harmony  with  that  of  the  indi- 
vidual. This  it  does  not  so  much  by  curtailing  and  modi- 
fying the  rights  of  the  mass,  as  by  recognizing  and 
'increasing  the  rights  of  the  individual. 

We  do  not  mean  by  individual  rights,  individual  isola- 
tion in  the  sense  in  which  we  find  it  on  the  first  pages  of 
human  history.  The  individual  and  the  family  were  then 
sufficiently  isolated.  Every  family  was  a  nation  in  itself, 
but  it  had  no  rights  which  it  could  not  sustain  with  rock 
and  club.  The  family  and  society  could  not  then  exist 
together,  but  civilization  finds  its  one  great  problem  in  the 
proposition  of  their  union.  While  society  is  still  develop- 
ing, the  isolation  of  the  family  and  of  the  individual  is 
retained,  and  family  secrets  are  rendered  more  necessary 
by  every  advance  of  civilization. 

family  secrets  do  not  mean  family  reserve  or 
estrangement.  Better  a  thousand  times  that  every 
individual  right  should  be  ignored  than  that  husbands  and 
wives  and  brothers  and  sisters  should  become  cold  and  dis- 
tant and  indifferent.  This  is  the  most  fatal  catastrophe 
that  can  befall  a  family.  Indeed,  it  is  the  death  blow  to 
home,  and  what  remains  is  but  the  ghastly  skeleton  from 
which  the  spirit  has  forever  flown.  The  family  whose 
members  do  not  mutually  consult  and  advise  and  work 

271 


Family  Secrets. 

together  for  each  other's  good  have  virtually  surrendered 
the  charter  of  home,  and  are  living  as  strangers  whom 
circumstances  have  compelled  to  live  in  close  proximity. 
History  affords  hardly  an  example  of  a  man  who  has 
proved  a  pronounced  success,  who  did  not  make  his  wife 
partner  to  his  work  and  ambition.  Behind  every  brilliant 
career  there  will  be  found  a  Martha  or  a  Josephine. 

The  very  fact  of  legitimate  family  secrets  renders  more 
beautiful  the  intercourse  of  home,  and  sweetens  the  very 
associations  and  heart-bleedings  that  are  legitimate  no- 
where else  but  in  the  heart  of  home. 


"  From  the  outward  world  about  us, 

From  the  hurry  and  the  din, 
Oh,  how  little  do  we  gather 

Of  the  other  world  within  ! 
****** 
But  when  the  hearth  is  kindled, 

And  the  house  is  hushed  at  night  — 
Ah,  then  the  secret  writing 

Of  the  spirit  comes  to  light ! 
Through  the  mother's  light  caressing 

Of  the  baby  on  her  knee, 
We  see  the  mystic  writing 

That  she  does  not  know  we  see  — 
By  the  love-light  as  it  flashes 

In  her  tender-lidded  eyes, 
We  know  if  that  her  vision  rest 

On  earth,  or  in  the  skies  ; 
And  by  the  song  she  chooses, 

By  the  very  tune  she  sings, 
We  know  if  that  her  heart  be  set 

On  seen  or  unseen  things." 

273 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO. 

Hthiical    Duties   of  the    Home. 

»  !<•   • 


(<»)  |O  step  in  life  is  accompanied  with  as  grave  respon- 
sibilities and  carries  with  it  such  possibilities  of 
weal  or  woe,  as  marriage.  In  numberless 
instances,  alas  !  it  is  taken  with  little  thought  of  its  full 
significance,  and  the  result  is  that  it  becomes  the  rock 
around  which,  later,  lies  the  wrecked  happiness  and  use- 
fulness of  many  human  lives.  On  the  other  hand  when 
marriage  is  entered  into  with  a  full  understanding  of  its 
meaning,  under  normal  physical  and  affectional  conditions, 
it  becomes  the  divinest  of  human  institutions,  radiating 
joy  and  happiness,  contributing  to  the  growth  of  well- 
rounded  character  and  becoming  the  center  of  the  highest 
form  of  social  life  and  beneficence. 

Precocious  marriages,  marriages  for  wealth  or  position, 
or  where  any  well  defined  mental  or  physical  disability 
exists  in  either  party  to  the  union,  should  be  looked  upon 
with  disfavor.  A  marked  discrepancy  in  age  or  in  intel- 
lectual attainments  or  in  social  position,  as  well  as  marked- 
eccentricities,  are  also  matters  of  extreme  importance  to  be 
considered  in  matrimonial  alliances. 

273 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

Given,  however,  the  marital  union  of  an  eligible 
young  man  and  woman,  based  upon  a  pure  and  honorable 
affection,  with  average  gifts  of  character  and  graces  of 
mind  and  person,  what  are  the  difficulties  and  duties  that 
confront  them?  In  English  speaking  countries  the  first 
desire  of  the  newly  married  couple  is  in  the  direction  of  an 
independent  home.  The  burden  of  duty  is,  therefore,  at 
first  material.  A  proper  domicile  must  be  procured,  fur- 
nished, and  adorned.  The  necessities,  comforts,  and  even 
luxuries  of  life  must  be  provided  for,  the  domestic  routine 
prescribed,  and  the  new  home  is  begun. 

Under  the  warming  influences  of  love,  and  the  imagi- 
native colorings  of  ante-nuptial  dreams,  life  seems  for  the 
moment  ideal.  But  the  young  wife  is  still  unconsciously 
under  the  spell  of  parental  guidance  and  under  the  sway  of 
the  ideals,  customs,  routine,  and  prevalent  ideas,  religious 
and  political,  of  her  own  home.  Oftentimes  in  her  reflect- 
ive moments,  will  the  memories  of  bygone  days  rise  in 
entrancing  succession  before  her,  a  splendid  troupe  to 
taunt  her  in  her  new  relations.  This  is  the  signal  for  cour- 
age. If  she  is  a  worthy  wife,  she  will  dismiss  them  all — 
the  playmates  of  her  girlhood,  a  sister's  or  a  brother's 
caress,  the  love  and  tenderness  of  parents,  the  evenings  of 
song  and  gayety,  the  dear  old  home  —  with  the  firm  con- 
viction and  willing  assent  that  duty  invites  her  to  other 
activities  and  binds  her  with  other  lives. 


274 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

NOR  must  the  husband  forget  that  his  primal  duty  is  a 
recognition  of  his  indebtedness  to  his  wife  from  the 
very  nature  of  their  union.  She  has  given  him  what  for- 
tune cannot  purchase,  a  human  heart.  She  has  paid  him 
the  highest  compliment  that  one  human  being  can  pay  to 
another.  She  has  told  him  by  actions  that  cannot  lie,  that 
he  is  more  to  her  than  all  the  associations  of  her  life.  She 
leaves  all  these  for  him,  although  her  heartstrings  cannot 
be  unwound  from  any  of  them,  but  must  be  broken  and 
torn  away.  Does  human  life  present  a  more  touching  spec- 
tacle than  that  of  a  young  bride  suppressing  her  tears  and 
forcing  a  smile  while  she  kisses  her  mother  and  father  and 
sister  and  brother  farewell  ?  How  hard-hearted,  how  un- 
worthy of  her,  how  inhuman  must  be  the  man,  if  he  may 
be  dignified  by  that  title,  who  does  not  under  those  circum- 
stances feel  his  knees  bend  a  little  with  the  instinctive  im- 
pulse of  adoration  ! 

The  husband  can  discharge  the  duties  which  he  owes 
to  his  wife  only  by  keeping  perpetually  in  his  mind  that  he 
owes  her  a  debt,  to  pay  which  it  will  be  necessary  to  take 
advantage  of  every  passing  opportunity. 

the  obligations  and  duties  are  not  all  on  the  part 
of  the  husband.  There  must  be  a  common  recogni- 
tion that  the  true  marriage  means  the  idealization  of  the 
physical  and  social  relations  of  husband  and  wife  to  the 
end  that  the  family  may  reach  its  highest  form  of  develop- 

275 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

ment  as  the  unit  of  society.  The  relation  of  marriage  car- 
ries with  it  the  corollary  of  real  mutuality  and  unswerving 
fidelity.  If  the  wife  is  the  woman  that  she  ought  to  be, 
and  esteems  herself  accordingly,  and  at  the  same  time  con- 
siders the  man  whom  she  has  accepted  as  worthy  of  her, 
she  ought  certainly  to  feel  under  the  deepest  obligations  to 
him  for  whatever  endowments  of  character,  energy,  integ- 
rity, intellectuality,  kindness,  or  other  qualities  he  may 
possess. 

A  very  important  duty  that  a  wife  owes  to  her  husband 
is  to  appear  attractive  to  him.  She  should  dress  with 
almost  exclusive  reference  to  his  tastes,  provided  they  are 
in  any  way  superior  or  can  lay  any  particular  claim  to 
being  artistic.  This  subject,  idle  as  it  may  seem,  is 
fraught  with  deep  consequences  to  the  race.  We  cannot 
treat  it  exhaustively  here,  however,  without  discussing  at 
length  the  broad  question  of  "natural  selection,"  which 
would  be  out  of  place  in  a  work  like  this.  It  is  sufficient  to 
observe  that  this  great  law  demands  that  the  wife  should 
continually  appeal  as  strongly  as  possible  to  the  sense  of 
beauty  in  her  husband.  No  man  ever  yet  loved  a  woman 
who  was  not  to  him  beautiful.  It  is  beauty  that  man  loves 
in  woman,  and  when  other  things  are  equal  his  love  for  his 
wife  is  just  proportionate  to  her  beauty. 

There  have  been,  doubtless,  many  women  so  ill-formed 
and  so  unsymmetrical  in  their  features  that  they  could 
not  possibly  present  to  any  man  a  single  trace  of  physical 

276 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home, 

beauty,  and  yet  they  have  been  the  objects  of  the  tenderest 
love. 

But  in  every  such  case  there  will  be  found  either  an 
intellectual  or  a  moral  beauty  that  has  charmed  the  lover. 

George  Eliot  and  the  wife  of  Carlyle  could  not  lay 
claim  to  very  much  of  "  dimpled  beauty,"  yet  was  there 
not  a  higher  beauty  in  their  souls,  that  even  found  expres- 
sion in  their  faces  when  closely  observed,  and  for  which 
the  frivolous  girl  might  well  desire  to  exchange  her 
dimples  ? 

/VND  yet  physical  beauty  has  its  high  office.     Every 

V^    face  of  beauty  is  from  the  chisel  of  the  Eternal 

Sculptor.     Every  dimple  is  the  finger  print  of  the  Divine. 

Woman's  highest  and  grandest  endowment  is  her  beauty, 

physical,  intellectual,  and  spiritual. 

Thrice  happy  is  that  woman  who  possesses  all  these. 
She  is  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  in  the  firmament  of 
human  society.  God  never  endowed  a  woman  with  this 
threefold  beauty  without  reserving  a  claim  upon  her 
power.  Such  a  woman  belongs  to  humanity.  She  is  min- 
istrant  to  human  need  and  exemplifies  the  ideals  of  human 
perfection. 

Of  these  three  forms  of  beauty,  the  spiritual  is  of  the 
first  importance,  intellectual  of  the  second,  and  physical  of 
the  third.  Although  no  amount  of  physical  beauty  can 
fully  compensate  for  the  slightest  deficiency  of  the  spirit- 

277 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

ual,  yet  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  lack  of  physical 
beauty  is  never  so  painfully  obvious  as  when  accompanied 
by  a  like  spiritual  deficiency. 

It  is  a  law  established  by  observations  made  on  the 
entire  animal  kingdom,  that  the  worth  of  offspring,  other 
things  being  equal,  is  in  the  ratio  of  the  mother's  beauty. 
It  may  not  be  a  beauty  that  would  stand  before  the  criti- 
cism of  the  world,  but  it  must  be  a  beauty  that  charms 
the  husband. 


IN  view  of  these  facts  is  it  not  the  highest  duty  of 
woman,  a  duty  which  she  owes  to  God  and  to 
humanity,  to  make  herself  at  all  times  as  beautiful  in  her 
husband's  eyes  as  possible  ?  It  is  a  diviner  art  to  maintain 
affection  than  to  awaken  it.  It  cannot  long  be  maintained, 
if  the  advantages  under  which  it  was  awakened  are  with- 
drawn. Your  husband  wooed  and  won  you  in  your  best 
attire,  in  an  atmosphere  surcharged  with  the  bewilderment 
of  roses,  perfume,  and  of  song,  amid  the  sweet  intoxica- 
tion of  woodland  rambles  and  moonlight  poetry.  You 
come  to  his  house,  take  off  the  myrtle  from  your  hair  and 
cast  the  rosebud  from  your  throat,  and  exchange  the 
rustling  perfumed  robes  of  love  for  the  soiled  garments  of 
careless  indifference.  Can  you  expect  anything  but  a 
chilling  shock  to  the  affections  of  him  who  before  had 
stood  gazing  upon  you  in  the  moveless  trance  of  love  ? 

278 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

Women  need  but  little  advice  of  this  kind  concern- 
ing their  personal  appearance  when  they  go  into  society. 
Indeed,  it  would  be  far  better  for  them  and  for  the  world  if 
they  would  appear  a  little  less  attractive  in  the  presence  of 
other  husbands,  and  a  little  more  so  in  the  presence  of 
their  own.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  husband  grows  cold 
and  indifferent  toward  his  wife  when  he  sees  her  exhaust- 
ing every  resource  of  invention  to  enhance  her  attractive- 
ness in  the  presence  of  other  men,  while  she  appears  con- 
tinually in  his  presence  with  soiled  dress  and  disheveled 
hair  ?  How  often  we  hear  women  making  an  almost  ludi- 
crous attempt  to  revive  the  forgotten  lore  of  their  early 
seminary  culture,  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  admiration  of 
some  brilliant  society  man,  when  their  conversation  with 
their  husbands  never  rises  to  higher  themes  than  the  last 
month's  rent  and  a  new  dress  to  wear  to  church. 

This  is  an  almost  universal  vice.  No  creed  or  social 
position  is  free  from  it.  It  is  daily  committed  alike  by  the 
rich  and  the  poor,  in  ignorance  of  one  of  the  great  laws 
that  govern  human  love. 

We  have  told  the  secret  of  many  a  conjugal  tragedy. 
It  costs  but  little  to  dress  becomingly,  to  put  a  rosebud 
in  the  hair,  and  she  who  cannot  find  time  to  do  this  may, 
perhaps,  by  and  by  find  time  to  mourn  over  blighted  hopes 
and  buried  love. 


279 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

P7ROM  Home  and  Health  we  copy  the  following  valu- 
able rules  which  seem  to  be  so  perfectly  to  the  point 
that  we  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  appropriate  them 
to  our  purpose  : 


to  be   a   Good   Husband. 

Honor  your  wife. 

Love  your  wife. 

Show  your  love. 

Suffer  for  your  wife  if  need  be. 

Study  to  keep  her  young. 

Consult  with  her. 

Help  to  bear  her  burdens. 

Be  thoughtful  of  her  always. 

Don't  command,  but  suggest. 

Seek  to  refine  your  own  nature. 

Be  a  gentleman  as  well  as  husband. 

Remember  the  past  experience  of  your  wife. 

Level  up  to  her  character. 

Stay  at  home  as  much  as  possible. 

Take  your  wife  with  you  often. 

Ho\v  to  be  a  Good  Wife. 

Reverence  your  husband. 

Love  him. 

Do  not  conceal  your  love  for  him. 

Forsake  all  for  him. 

280 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

Confide  in  him. 
Keep  his  love  at  any  cost. 
Cultivate  the  modesty  and  delicacy  of  youth. 
Cultivate  personal  attractiveness. 

If  you    read  nothing  and  make  no  effort  to  be  intel- 
ligent you  will  soon  sink  into  a  dull  block  of  stupidity. 
Cultivate  physical  attractiveness. 
Do  not  forget  the  power  of  incidental  attentions. 
Make  your  home  attractive. 
Keep  your  house  clean  and  in  good  order. 
Preserve  sunshine. 
Study  your  husband's  character. 
Cultivate  his  better  nature. 
Study  to  meet  all  your  duties  as  a  wife. 
Seek  to  secure  your  husband's  happiness. 
Study  his  interest. 
Practice  frugality. 

Curtail  all  unnecessary  expenditures. 
Don't   subject   your   husband  to  a  complaining  pride. 

I IMPORTANT  as  are  the  duties  that  husband  and  wife 
owe  to  each  other,  no  less  important  are  those  which 
they  owe  to  their  children.  It  is  the  duty  of  parents  to 
make  the  home  of  childhood  pleasant  and  attractive,  for 
children  develop  more  perfectly  in  pleasant  than  in 
unpleasant  homes.  We  do  not  mean,  however,  mere  out- 
ward attractiveness.  It  is  not  essential  that  the  home 

281 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

should  overlook  some  rich  and  beautiful  landscape  ;  but 
that  the  associations  of  home  should  be  pleasant  and  agree- 
able to  the  children  ;  so  that  they  may  not  become  restless 
and  desirous  of  leaving  it. 

It  is  the  duty  of  parents  to  make  their  children  love 
them.  Not  that  they  should  compel  love  with  the  authority 
of  the  rod,  for  that  would  be  impossible  ;  but  by  the  wise 
application  of  the  law  that  "love  begets  love/'  No  person 
has  any  right  to  be  the  parent  of  a  child  that  doesn't  love 
him.  Thoughtlessness  and  narrow  views  of  life's  relations 
are  often  fatal  to  filial  love.  Parents  too  often  forget  that 
they  themselves  were  once  children,  with  children's  tastes, 
desires,  and  whims. 

It  is  natural  for  children  to  love  their  parents,  not  only 
during  the  years  of  childhood,  but  through  life.  And  yet 
we  often  see  very  little  filial  love  among  grown  up  children. 
This  is  chiefly  because  the  parents  failed  to  make  a  proper 
concession  to  the  demands  of  childhood.  A  child  cannot 
love  one,  be  he  parent  or  teacher,  who  suppresses  his  child 
nature.  When  once  the  tender  bond  of  sympathy  between 
parent  and  child  has  thus  been  broken  it  can  never  be 
fully  reunited  ;  and  when  the  child  becomes  a  man  he  is 
very  apt  to  dislike  his  parents  for  the  needless  pain  they 
have  caused  him,  in  not  governing  him  in  accordance 
with  the  laws  of  his  nature. 

By  sympathy  we  do  not  mean  love.  It  is  possible  for 
love  to  exist  without  sympathy,  or  at  least  without  that 

282 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

intimate,  almost  mesmeric  sympathy  that  ought  to  exist 
between  parent  and  child.  Such  parents  usually  love  their 
children  with  much  tenderness,  but  they  somehow  manage 
to  place  a  great  gulf  between  themselves  and  the  objects 
of  their  affection.  They  do  not  understand  that  the  art  of 
rearing  children  is  the  art  of  becoming  "  a  child  again," 
of  going  back  where  the  children  are,  and  so  growing  up 
again  with  them.  Yes,  the  way  to  bring  up  a  child  is  to 
go  back  and  get  him  and  take  him  along  with  you  up 
to  manhood.  You  should  not  stand  on  the  height  and  call 
him  up,  for  he  would  be  very  apt  to  lose  his  way.  He  is 
not  acquainted  with  the  path.  You  know  it  is  a  narrow 
path,  only  wide  enough  for  one,  and  that  all  who  would 
climb  that  height  must  go  "  single  file." 

But  the  obligations  of  parents  and  children  are  recipro- 
cal, and  corresponding  to  the  duties  that  parents  owe  to 
their  children  are  those  that  children  owe  to  their  parents. 
That  children  owe  to  their  parents  a  debt  of  gratitude, 
that  they  owe  them  the  duty  of  obedience,  love,  and  respect, 
is  a  proposition  that  requires  no  demonstration,  for  it  meets 
the  approval  of  every  true  child. 

ts  recognized  than  the  above  are  the  duties  that  chil- 
dren owe  to  each  other.     The   older  children  owe 
to  the  younger  ones  the  duty  of  tenderness  and  considera- 
tion for  their  age,  and  should  not  in  their  dealings   with 
them  apply  the  ethics  of  society,  "  Do  to  others  as  others  do 

283 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

to  you."  They  should  rather  apply  the  golden  rule  as  it 
reads,  and  patiently  trust  to  a  more  mature  age  to  develop 
in  their  thoughtless  little  brothers  and  sisters  a  deeper 
sense  of  obligation  and  moral  responsibility.  The  older 
children  are  very  apt  to  take  advantage  of  the  younger 
ones,  and  often  use  their  superior  tact  in  pleading  their  own 
case  to  the  parents.  Now  everything  of  this  sort  is  a  viola- 
tion of  the  duties  that  older  children  owe  to  the  younger. 

But  the  younger  children  owe  certain  duties  to  the 
older  ones.  Children  should  always  be  taught  to  respect 
superior  knowledge  and  experience,  whether  found  in 
parent,  teacher,  or  older  brothers  and  sisters.  Hence  the 
younger  children  owe  to  the  older  ones  the  duty  of  respect 
and,  to  a  certain  extent,  obedience. 

Brothers  owe  to  their  sisters  precisely  the  same  respect 
and  gallantry  that  they  owe  to  women  everywhere.  They 
will  be  rewarded  for  this  in  the  ease  with  which  when  they 
become  older  they  can  enter  the  society  of  ladies,  and  sis- 
ters will  receive  the  same  reward  for  properly  discharging 
at  home  the  duties  that  they  owe  to  every  man. 

I  HE  ethics  of  the  home  correspond  in  large  measure 
V.  with  the  ethics  of  society.  All  those  virtues  which 
are  the  crown  jewels  of  the  highest  civilization  have  their 
inception  in  the  home.  The  glory  and  charm  of  woman- 
hood and  manhood,  the  niceties  of  character  which  give 
distinctiveness  and  beauty  to  childhood  and  youth,  the  ad- 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

justments  of  personal  and  domestic  relations  within  the 
home,  the  education  of  the  impulses,  budding  susceptibili- 
ties and  growing  powers  of  children,  all  fall  within  the 
province  of  home  ethics.  Nowhere  else  can  the  abstract 
virtues  or  practical  duties  be  more  forcibly  disclosed. 
Honesty,  fidelity  to  trusts,  truthfulness,  courage,  obe- 
dience, true  dignity,  kindness,  the  lesser  virtues  as  well 
as  the  finer  and  nobler  issues  of  life,  must  revert  to  home 
training  for  their  proper  and  lasting  inculcation. 

The  duties  of  home  then  are  simply  the  aggregate  of 
all  the  obligations  that  grow  out  of  the  family  relation, 
and  on  the  discharge  of  these  depends  the  success  or  failure 
of  the  home  life.  Home  may  be  made  happy  or  wretched, 
according  to  the  discharge  of  these  obligations.  It  is  not, 
however,  the  great  questions  of  these  obligation  that  most 
vitally  affect  the  happiness  of  the  home,  but  the  aggregate 
of  all  those  little,  obligations  that  love  always  imposes. 
The  crowning  glory  of  the  home  life  is  that  it  draws  its 
supremest  joy  from  the  little  events. 

"  Our  daily  paths,  with  thorns  or  flowers 

We  can  at  will  bestrew  them  ; 
What  bliss  would  gild  the  passing  hours, 

If  we  but  rightly  knew  them  ! 
The  way  of  life  is  rough  at  best, 

But  briers  yield  the  roses  ; 
So  that  which  leads  to  joy  and  rest 

The  hardest  path  discloses. 

285 


Ethical  Duties  of  the  Home. 

The  weeds  that  oft  we  cast  away, 

Their  simple  beauty  scorning, 
Would  form  a  wreath  of  purest  ray, 

And  prove  the  best  adorning. 
So  in  our  daily  paths,  'twere  well 

To  call  each  gift  a  treasure, 
However  slight,  where  love  can  dwell 

With  life-renewing  pleasure." 


286 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE. 


Contentment  at  Home. 


(51  HE'] 


HE  men  who  are  discontented  at  home,  are,   as  a 
rule,  discontented  everywhere.     There  are,  indeed, 


exceptions  to  this  rule,  for  there  are  those  who  are 
better  than  their  homes,  great  souls  that  have  sprung  up 
out  of  vicious  homes  where  intemperance  and  still  darker 
vices  have  shrouded  their  early  years  in  painful  memories. 
In  such  homes  those  noble  souls  who,  from  some  favorable 
combination  of  circumstances,  have  risen  above  their  sur- 
roundings, may  well  feel  discontented.  But  even  in  these 
cases  we  may  believe  that  there  is  still  that  which  justifies 
something  of  the  spirit  of  content.  They  are  discontented 
not  necessarily  with  the  identity  of  the  home  itself,  but 
with  its  condition,  and  if  they  were  to  surround  themselves 
with  the  influences  of  an  ideal  home  they  would  in  most 
cases  retain  the  identity  of  the  old.  The  new  house  would 
rise  on  the  foundation  of  the  old.  Like  the  boy's  jackknife 
that  required  a  new  blade  and  a  new  handle,  and  that 
when  these  were  supplied  was  to  him  the  old  knife  still ;  so 
many  objects  seem  to  have  a  subtle  spirit  independent  of 

287 


Contentment  at  Home. 

their  material  structure,  but  depending  solely  on  associa- 
tions that  constitute  to  us  their  identity. 

With  this  spiritual  identity  of  our  home  we  may  be, 
and  ought  to  be,  content.  If  the  influence  of  our  home 
be  evil,  if  its  atmosphere  be  injurious,  then  we  should 
spend  our  lives  in  making  it  better,  and  in  purifying  its 
atmosphere.  In  this  noblest  of  all  forms  of  human  labor 
we  should  find  contentment.  Contentment  is  simply  a 
willingness  to  be  happy.  Almost  any  sphere  or  condition 
of  life  furnishes  the  necessary  material  for  happiness  if  we 
will  only  appropriate  it  in  the  spirit  of  contentment.  It  is 
questionable  if  there  is  any  outward  condition  of  human 
life  in  which  it  does  not  lie  within  one's  power  to  be  con- 
tent. Our  desires  feed  upon  their  own  gratification.  One 
is  always  and  necessarily  contented  at  the  moment  of  the 
first  gratification.  It  is  only  when  a  desire  has  been  unlaw- 
fully gratified  that  the  gratification  fails  to  bring  satisfac- 
tion and  content.  Hence  discontent  is  subjective  rather 
than  objective. 

Now  there  are  no  pain  and  sorrow  like  subjective  pains 
and  sorrows, —  those  which  the  mind  experiences  within  its 
own  dominion,  and  to  which  it  can  assign  no  adequate 
cause.  In  such  cases  the  mind  itself  cannot  see  why  it 
should  feel  discontent.  Such  suffering  of  the  mind  is  anal- 
ogous to  nervousness  in  the  body.  How  often  we  hear  it 
said  of  sensitive  and  complaining  women,  "Nothing  ails 
her,  she's  only  nervous."  We  do  not  stop  to  consider  that 

288 


Contentment  at  Home. 

nervousness  is  the  most  absolutely  real  of  all  diseases ;  it 
is  the  reality  of  the  unreal,  and  the  unreality  of  the  real. 
With  healthy  nerves  and  an  unvitiated  imagination  we 
may  render  real,  or  divest  of  reality,  whatever  we  choose. 
But  can  the  victim  of  delirium  tremens,  can  the  nervous 
patient,  render  unreal  the  disease  which  he  fancies  is  prey- 
ing at  his  vitals  ?  Or  can  he  render  real  the  fact  that  his 
imagination  is  disordered?  "Nothing  ails  him!" 

There  is  nothing  so  absolutely  real  as  a  delusion. 
Nervousness  is  the  only  real  disease.  In  like  manner  the 
only  real  sorrow  is  subjective  sorrow,  that  sorrow  which 
the  suffering  mind  itself  cannot  account  for.  The  great 
sorrows  of  human  experience  arise  from  this  inner  source. 
They  consist  in  a  brooding  discontent,  a  stubborn  refusal 
of  the  mind  to  respond  in  a  satisfactory  manner  to  any 
external  stimulant. 

The  world  holds  up  to  our  vision  many  illustrious 
examples  of  human  sorrow  and  suffering, —  suffering  from 
outward  conditions  and  circumstances,  and  perhaps  the 
most  noted  of  these  is  that  almost  typical  character,  Job. 
But  the  illustrious  examples  of  that  other  sorrow  the 
world  can  never  see,  for  it  is  the  sorrow  of  midnight  and 
silence.  It  is  a  sorrow  which  cannot  be  shared,  and  one 
which  the  world  will  not  recognize.  We  can,  however, 
see  its  fruits,  for  it  sometimes  bears  the  divinest  fruit,  but, 
as  with  the  tree  of  evil  everywhere,  the  tree  which  bore  it 
must  first  be  cut  and  burned.  It  is  from  the  ashes  of  the 

289 


Contentment  at  Home. 

tree  of  evil  that  fruit  divine  grows.  He  who  conquers  this 
subjective  sorrow,  and  conies  triumphantly  out  of  the  dark 
forest  of  inward  discontent  into  the  sweet  light  of  peace 
and  contentment,  is  a  conqueror  in  the  grandest  and  sub- 
limest  sense  of  the  word,  and  on  his  brow  there  rests  for- 
evermore  a  crown  of  victory. 


lISCONTENT,  then,  is  in  almost  every  case  the  re- 
^X  suit  of  this  subjective  mental  action,  a  continual 
yearning  for  something  more  than  the  present  experience. 
That  is  the  most  awful  form  of  human  disease  in  which  the 
cognizable  objects  and  the  cognizing  faculties  are  out  of 
gear.  What  then  is  the  remedy  for  discontent  ?  We  have 
said  that  desires  feed  upon  their  own  gratification,  and  the 
kind  of  food  determines  the  kind  of  desires.  An  unlawful 
gratification  produces  in  its  turn  another  unlawful  desire. 
Now,  since  there  is  no  natural  object  or  circumstance  that 
can  respond  to  an  unlawful  desire,  it  follows  that  in  the 
home  where  objects  and  circumstances  are  natural,  the 
unlawful  desire  must  remain  ungratified,  and  hence 
the  source  of  yearning  and  discontent  must  also  remain, 
till  unlawful  gratification  has  been  obtained  elsewhere. 
A  pertinent  illustration  of  this  view  of  the  subject  may 
be  seen  in  the  behavior  of  a  slightly  depraved  appetite, 
and  among  a  civilized  people  this  is  the  condition  of  almost 
every  one's  appetite.  Every  one  knows  that  when  he  is 

290 


Contentment  at  Home. 

hungry  a  simple  piece  of  dry  bread  tastes  good  and  satisfies 
the  hunger ;  but  let  him  cover  it  with  highly  seasoned 
sauce,  and  after  partaking  of  it  attempt  to  go  back  to  the 
dry  bread  ;  he  will  find  that  it  tastes  insipid  and  does  not 
satisfy  him.  If,  however,  he  had  taken  a  juicy  pear  in- 
stead of  the  spicy  sauce,  he  could  have  returned  to  the  dry 
bread  with  satisfaction. 

Here  then  lies  a  principle.  The  dry  bread  and  the  pear 
both  sustain  a  normal  relation  to  our  appetites,  and  gratify 
a  lawful  desire,  but  not  so  with  the  sauce  ;  for  spices  and 
artificial  flavors  were  never  meant  to  satisfy  a  healthy 
appetite.  There  is  nothing  in  a  healthy  appetite  that  cor- 
responds to  them.  The  dry  bread  and  the  pear,  feeding 
nothing  but  a  healthy  and  lawful  desire,  in  their  turn  give 
rise  to  a  healthy  and  lawful  desire  ;  and  this  dry  bread  can 
satisfy.  But  the  sauce  satisfying  an  unnatural,  and  hence 
unlawful,  appetite,  gives  rise  to  nothing  but  unhealthy 
and  unlawful  desires,  and  these  the  dry  bread  cannot 
satisfy. 

Apply  the  principle  involved  in  this  illustration,  and 
the  solution  which  it  suggests,  to  the  higher  faculties  of  the 
mind,  and  you  have  the  whole  philosophy  of  discontent. 

But,  says  one,  shall  we  follow  out  this  doctrine  to  its 
full  extent,  and  seek  to  awaken  no  desire  which  our  sur- 
rounding circumstances  cannot  gratify  ?  If  discontent 
consists  simply  in  ungratified  desires,  then  it  would  be  rea- 
sonable to  suppress  all  desires  that  we  cannot  gratify.  But 

291 


Contentment  at  Home. 

would  not  this  be  fatal  to  all  progress  ?  Would  it  not  tend 
to  keep  us  forever  on  the  dead  level  of  the  present  ?  There 
is  an  infinite  difference  between  the  absolute  inability  to 
gratify  a  desire,  and  the  mere  inability  to  gratify  it  imme- 
diately. The  lion  cannot  gratify  at  once  his  desire  for 
food,  but  the  suspension  of  the  gratification  does  not  result 
in  discontent.  He,  perhaps,  knows  that  his  diligent  search 
will  make  the  gratification  still  keener  when  it  comes.  So 
the  young  man  who  desires  to  be  great  and  useful  need  not 
crush  that  desire  simply  because  he  is  unable  to  gratify  it 
at  once.  His  highest  delight  may  spring  from  his  contem- 
plation of  its  final  gratification.  There  is  a  continual  grat- 
ification simply  in  the  prospect  of  ultimate  gratification. 

But  if  one  has  a  desire  that  it  is  absolutely  impossible 
for  him  to  gratify,  then  the  quicker  it  is  crushed  the  better. 
If  a  cripple  should  become  ambitious  to  be  an  acrobat, 
then  the  harboring  of  that  ambition  could  lead  to  nothing 
but  discontent.  Then  crush  all  desires  that  cannot,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  be  satisfied.  Crush  all  unlawful  desires, 
and  seek  to  gratify  all  lawful  ones,  and  contentment  will 
be  the  necessary  result. 

"  Sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  savor  of  content  — 

The  quiet  mind  is  richer  than  a  crown. 
Sweet  are  the  nights  in  careless  slumber  spent, 

The  poor  estate  scorns  fortune's  angry  frown  ; 
Such  sweet  content,  such  minds,  such  sleep,  such  bliss, 
Beggars  enjoy,  when  princes  oft  do  miss. 
292 


Contentment  at  Home. 

"  The  homely  house  that  harbors  quiet  rest, 
The  cottage  that  affords  no  pride  or  care, 

The  mien  that  'grees  with  country  music  best, 
The  sweet  consort  of  mirth  and  music's  fare, 

Obscured  life  sets  down  a  type  of  bliss :  — 

A  mind  content  both  crown  and  kingdom  is." 


293 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR. 

Visiting. 


SO  long  as  man  remains  a  social  being,  visiting 
will  constitute  a  part  of  his  functions.  Man  is 
a  fragment  of  being,  as  each  star  is  a  fragment 
of  the  firmament.  And  as  the  stars  are  never  at  rest ;  as 
they  revolve  around  each  other  ;  as  the  smaller  ones  seem 
to  select  the  larger  ones  as  centers,  whose  superior  attrac- 
tion guides  and  maps  out  their  paths, —  so  men  arrange 
themselves  in  society  in  accordance  with  a  similar  law. 

There  are  suns  and  planets  and  asteroids  in  human 
society,  and  these  take  their  proper  places  by  an  eternal 
law  of  human  affinity. 

Man  is,  in  his  individuality,  an  imperfectly  adapted 
being.  The  divine  declaration,  "It  is  not  good  for  man  to 
be  alone,"  long  before  it  was  written  by  human  pen  was 
written  in  the  nature  of  man  by  virtue  of  this  law,  that 
man  is  but  fragmentary. 

Hence  the  necessity  in  our  social  economy  of  the  cus- 
tom of  visiting.  A  home  without  visitors  is  not  a  perfect 
home,  inasmuch  as  the  members  of  that  home  cannot 
become  perfected  social  beings,  but  must  forever  remain 

294 


Visiting. 

undeveloped  unless  they  come  in  contact  with  the  great 
world.  We  have  all  seen  such  homes,  where  the  frozen 
pride  of  wealth  or  exclusiveness  congeals  the  fountains  of 
worth  and  usefulness.  There  are  certain  families  that 
never  visit ;  but  the  vital  instincts  of  society  soon  eliminate 
them,  as  a  sliver  or  any  foreign  substance  is  eliminated 
from  the  flesh. 

In  such  cases  nature  repudiates  the  foreign  substance 
by  cutting  it  off  from  all  the  vital  processes,  and  builds 
around  it  a  hard  case,  which  effectually  shuts  it  off  from 
all  relation  with  the  vital  organism  as  if  it  were  in  a  prison. 
Society  has  the  same  instincts,  and  when  it  discovers  in 
itself  a  foreign  substance  in  the  form  of  a  family  destitute 
of  fellow  sympathy,  a  family  which  does  not  visit  nor 
receive  visitors,  it  rapidly  cuts  off  all  vital  connection  with 
it  and  incloses  it  within  the  prison  walls  of  its  own  reserve. 
With  what  pitying  contempt  society  looks  upon  such  a 
family  !  How  even  the  children  point  to  the  home  as  the 
dwelling  of  some  monstrosity,  and  learn  to  taunt  the 
inmates  as  the  parrot  learns  to  taunt  the  barn  fowl.  We 
pity  the  members  of  such  a  family.  We  have  often  won- 
dered what  the  source  of  their  enjoyment  can  be.  That 
same  coldness  and  lack  of  sympathy  which  makes  them 
shun  the  world,  most  certainly  will  make  them  cold  and 
distant  in  one  another's  society. 

Such  homes  are  usually  the  abodes  of  gilded  misery. 
It  is  a  curious  fact  that  these  families  soon  become  extinct. 

295 


Visiting. 

They  live  but  a  few  generations  at  best,  become  sickly 
and  vicious,  and  finally  die  out,  and  leave  the  world  no 
better  and,  perhaps,  no  worse. 

I  HERE  is  a  lesson  in  this  fact,  not  only  a  moral  les- 
^  son,  but  a  lesson  in  science  as  well.  There  is  no 
subject  that  men  have  studied  so  little  as  the  science  of 
human  nature,  although  it  is  the  grandest  subject  that  can 
engross  the  human  intellect.  They  have,  however,  devel- 
oped a  few  grand  results  and  one  of  them  is  the  law  that 
governs  the  phenomenon  we  have  just  referred  to.  The 
discovery  was  made,  however,  not  by  a  direct  study  of 
human  nature,  but  chiefly  by  observation  on  the  lower 
octaves  in  life's  scale.  This  law  is  known  as  the  law  of 
the  "  survival  of  the  fittest."  It  teaches  that  when  a  being 
or  a  faculty  ceases  to  act  in  a  manner  consistent  with  the 
general  good  it  is  destroyed  by  a  power  of  natural  selec- 
tion. 

Nature  does  this  in  self-defense.  When  a  being  vio- 
lates the  laws  of  his  nature  he  is  destroyed  if  he  persists 
in  the  violation.  When  he  persists  in  the  violation  of 
his  moral  nature  he  dies  as  a  moral  beihg,  although  he 
may  still  survive  as  a  physical  and  intellectual  being.  If 
he  violates  his  intellectual  nature  he  dies  as  an  intellectual 
being ;  if  his  social  nature,  then  he  dies  as  a  social  being. 
But  these  calamities  are  not  confined  to  the  individual 
alone.  The  organic  weakness  resulting  from  his  violation 

296 


Visiting. 

is  transmitted  to  his  children,  who  transmit  to  their  off- 
spring in  still  greater  degree  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers,  till 
finally  the  family  becomes  too  weak  to  perpetuate  itself. 

Now  the  ability  to  perpetuate  the  species  is  more 
vitally  related  to  the  social  nature  than  to  the  intellectual 
or  the  moral ;  and  families  that  violate  their  social  nature, 
as  do  those  we  are  considering,  are  striking  at  the  germi- 
nating root  of  their  family  life. 

Such  families  seldom  do  the  world  much  injury,  be- 
cause society,  with  the  aid  of  nature,"  rids  itself  of  the  pest 
with  the  greatest  economy  of  effort  and  the  least  expendi- 
ture of  its  forces.  Since  man  is  but  a  fragment  he  requires 
the  presence  of  his  supplementary  fragments  to  develop 
his  possibilities. 

rVS  woman  is  essential  to  man  and  man  to  woman  in 
V_  order  to  call  out  and  develop  the  latent  possibili- 
ties in  each,  so  every  human  being,  in  order  to  call  forth 
his  highest  possibilities,  must  first  be  wedded  to  his  ge- 
neric supplement.  He  must  lose  his  identity  in  fulfilling 
the  purposes  of  a  higher  social  order  before  he  can  find  it 
again  in  a  larger  and  grander  sense  as  self. 

The  muscle  grows  strong  most  rapidly  when  it  wastes 
most  rapidly.  The  magnet  grows  powerful  by  imparting 
its  magnetic  properties  to  iron  and  steel.  The  teacher 
grows  wise  by  imparting  wisdom.  The  rose  fills  all  the 
air  with  its  sweet  gift  of  incense,  and  through  the  little 

297 


Visiting. 

railway  tunnels  fly  the  trains  that  bear  from  nature's 
laboratory  the  precious  freight  that  continually  replen- 
ishes its  fragrant  crucibles. 

Now  social  intercourse  is  simply  a  process  of  impart- 
ing to  others  a  portion  of  ourselves.  When  the  rose  begins 
to  hoard  its  fragrance,  it  dies.  So  when  man  would  hoard 
his  influence  and  wrap  around  him  the  mantle  of  solitude, 
he  is  fading  away  in  the  noblest  attributes  of  his  being. 

I  HERE  is  a  possible  interpretation  of  the  above  that 
^  we  would  not  wish  to  submit  to  the  test  of  history. 
It  is  that  the  love  of  solitude  is  an  illegitimate  love.  This 
interpretation  meets  its  rebuke  in  the  lives  of  poets  and 
philosophers.  The  world's  grandest  characters  have  been 
lovers  of  solitude.  There  is  something  pathetically  beauti- 
ful in  the  yearning  which  poets  have  always  felt  for  the 
sweet  breath  of  nature  untainted  by  the  smoke  and  noxious 
vapors  of  the  city.  There  is  both  a  legitimate  and  an 
illegitimate  love  of  solitude. 

Jesus  loved  solitude  as  probably  no  other  being  ever 
did.  The  honeybee  loves  solitude,  and  loves  it  for  the 
same  reason  that  Jesus  and  the  poets  love  it,  because, 
guided  by  a  heavenly  instinct,  they  know  that  solitude 
alone  can  minister  to  the  throng,  and  they  are  its  ministers 
divinely  elect.  The  bee  must  leave  the  merry  swarm  and 
seek  the  silent  solitude  where  blush  in  unconscious  beauty 

the  wild  rose  and  the  lily.     So  Jesus,  although  his  heart 

298 


Visiting. 

was  with  the  dying  throng,  still  sought  the  lonely  heights, 
because  it  was  there  alone  from  the  divine  flower  of  soli- 
tude that  he  could  extract  the  honey  for  the  "healing  of 
the  nations."  Poets  love  solitude,  not  from  selfishness. 
They  desire  it  as  a  sick  man  desires  medicine.  It  ministers 
to  the  highest  necessities  of  their  being.  They  love  to  go 
into  solitude,  not  because  their  hearts  do  not  beat  with  the 
great  multitude,  but  because  they  can  get  nearer  to  Nature's 
heart  when  removed  from  the  roaring  factory  and  the  rush- 
ing train,  and  with  purer  soul  receive  her  gracious  benedic- 
tion. All  then  should  love  solitude,  but  as  the  bee  loves  it, 
because  they  can  find  something  there  fresh  from  God  to 
bring  to  the  hive  of  humanity. 

The  poet  and  the  philosopher  can  minister  to  the  world 
while  they  remain  in  solitude  ;  but  not  so  with  the  "  com- 
mon people  "  ;  the  toiling  men  and  women  without  genius 
must  find  their  field  of  labor  in  the  social  world.  Then  let 
the  gates  of  cottage  and  palace  be  flung  open  to  the  tides 
of  humanity.  Let  us  entertain  and  be  entertained.  Let 
us  make  it  a  part  of  our  life  work  to  give  ourselves  to 
others,  and  in  our  turn  derive  from  society  what  must 
come  from  that  source,  if  it  ever  comes  to  us  at  all. 

SC  OCIETY  does  not  consist  in  physical  proximity.     It 
^-^  does  not  consist  in  vying  with  one  another  in  the 
display  of  fine  dwellings  and  costly  tables.     Social  inter- 
course, to  be  right  and  profitable,  must  contain   its  own 

299 


Visiting. 

excuse.  It  must  be  the  outgrowth  of  an  instinctive  im- 
pulse to  mingle  within  the  sphere  of  mutual  interest,  in 
spiritual  as  well  as  physical  proximity. 

We  do  not  wish  to  recommend  that  practice  so  preva- 
lent among  certain  classes,  of  gadding  from  house  to  house 
for  the  purpose  of  retailing  the  morning  news.  This  is  not 
what  we  mean  by  social  intercourse.  Nor  would  we  recom- 
mend the  "formal  call,"  where  each  family  keeps  a  record 
and  returns  a  call  as  it  would  pay  for  a  barrel  of  flour. 
We  have  no  faith  in  the  bookkeeping  of  calls.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  other  relation  of  life  that  fosters  so  much  of  de- 
ception and  falsehood  as  the  system  of  fashionable  calling. 

Mrs.  A  calls  upon  Mrs.  B,  who  has  just  settled  in  the 
neighborhood,  because,  if  she  were  not  to  do  so,  Mrs.  B 
would  think  that  Mrs.  A  was  not  acquainted  with  the 
ways  of  society.  Mrs.  B  is,  of  course,  delighted  to  see 
Mrs.  A,  notwithstanding  she  threw  up  her  hands  in  horror 
when  the  door  bell  rang.  When  Mrs.  A  departs  amid 

the  mournful  protests   of  Mrs.    B,  Mrs.  B  has  too  much 

i 
confidence  in  Mrs.  A's  "  society  education  "   to   have  any 

fears  that  she  will  heed  the  earnest  and  heartfelt  (?) 
entreaty  to  "call  again"  and  not  to  be  "so  formal." 

Such  calls  involve  the  commercial  instincts  of  our 
nature,  for  they  are  regarded  as  merchandise  and  subject 
to  the  laws  of  debit  and  credit.  They  do  not  appeal  to  the 
social  faculty  at  all,  and  hence  have  no  tendency  in  the 
direction  of  its  cultivation,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  they 

300 


Visiting. 

weaken  it,  for  they  are  in  almost  every  case  regarded  as 
painful  duties,  and  it  is  a  law  of  our  being  that  the  painful 
or  disagreeable  action  of  any  function,  whether  physical  or 
mental,  has  a  direct  tendency  to  weaken  the  function 
involved. 

I  HEN,  as  the  first  and  essential  condition  to  the  culti- 
V  vation  of  the  social  faculty,  let  the  call  be  divested 
of  all  its  formality.  Neighboring  parents  should  learn  a 
lesson  from  their  own  children,  who  play  in  adjoining 
yards  and  seek  each  other's  presence  often  for  the  sake  of 
that  presence  alone.  Not  in  their  "beauty's  best  attire," 
nor  at  the  feast  where  pride  sits  queen,  but  in  the  mood 
and  dress  of  every  day.  Let  them  meet  and  spend  the 
evening  around  each  other's  hearthstone,  nor  recognize 
any  hour  as  fashionable  or  unfashionable,  but  "drop  in" 
with  that  simplicity  and  informality  that  calls  forth  the 
exclamation  of  surprise  which  no  actor's  skill  can  feign. 

\i/ E  cannot  better  close  this  chapter  than  by  quoting 
^  the  words    of    that    almost    marvelous    student  of 
human  nature,  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

"There  would  be  a  great  deal  more  obedience  to  the 
apostolic  injunction,  '  Be  not  forgetful  to  entertain  stran- 
gers,' if  it  once  could  be  clearly  got  into  the  heads  of  well 
intending  people  what  it  is  that  strangers  want.  What  do 
you  want  when  away  from  home  in  a  strange  city  ?  Is  it 
not  the  warmth  of  the  home  fireside  and  the  sight  of  people 

301 


Visiting. 

that  you  know  care  for  you  ?  Is  it  not  the  blessed  priv- 
ilege of  speaking  and  acting  yourself  out  unconstrainedly 
among  those  who  you  know  understand  you  ?  And  had 
you  not  rather  dine  with  an  old  friend  on  simple  cold 
mutton  offered  with  a  warm  heart  than  go  to  a  splendid 
ceremonious  dinner  party  among  people  who  don't  care  a 
rush  for  you  ?  Well,  then,  set  it  down  in  your  book  that 
other  people  are  like  you,  and  that  the  art  of  entertaining 
is  the  art  of  really  caring  for  people.  If  you  have  a  warm 
heart,  congenial  tastes,  and  a  real  interest  in  your  stran- 
ger, don't  fear  to  invite  him  though  you  have  no  best 
dinner  set  and  your  existing  plates  are  sadly  chipped  at  the 
edges,  and  even  though  there  be  a  handle  broken  off  from 
the  side  of  your  vegetable  dish.  Set  it  down  in  your  belief 
that  you  can  give  something  better  than  a  dinner,  however 
good, — you  can  give  a  part  of  yourself.  You  can  give 
love,  good  will,  and  sympathy,  of  which  there  has  perhaps 
been  quite  as  much  over  cracked  plates  and  restricted  table 
furniture  as  over  Sevres  china  and  silver." 

"  Blest  be  that  spot  where  cheerful  guests  retire 
To  pause  from  toil,  and  trim  their  evening  fire  ; 
Blest  that  abode,  where  want  and  pain  repair, 
And  every  stranger  finds  a  ready  chair : 
Blest  be  those  feasts  with  simple  plenty  crown 'd, 
Where  all  the  ruddy  family  around 
Laugh  at  the  jest  or  pranks,  that  never  fail, 
Or  sigh  with  pity  at  some  mournful  tale, 
Or  press  the  bashful  stranger  to  his  food, 
And  learn  the  luxury  of  doing  good. " 

302 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE. 


Unselfishness  at  Home. 


IN  accordance  with  an  eternal  law,  selfishness  defeats 
its  own  ends.  The  selfish  man,  from  the  very  nature 
of  selfishness,  declares  war  against  the  universe,  and 
in  that  unequal  fight  is  sure  to  fall.  The  only  way  we  can 
get  God  on  our  side  is  to  enlist  in  his  army. 

The  conditions  of  our  own  happiness  are  so  blended  and 
interwoven  with  the  conditions  of  others'  happiness,  that 
we  cannot  successfully  seek  our  own  highest  interest  while 
we  are  unmindful  of  the  welfare  of  others.  There  is  but 
one  rational  and  successful  way  in  which  a  man  may  work 
for  himself,  and  that  is  by  forgetting  self  in  his  desire  for 
the  well-being  of  others.  Human  society  is  a  vast  machine 
in  which  every  man  is  a  wheel,  but  the  wheels  of  a 
machine  never  move  independently.  No  matter  how  small 
and  apparently  insignificant  they  may  be,  they  each  per- 
form an  essential  office,  and  their  value  is  represented  in 
the  product  of  the  great  machine. 

Man  is  a  compound  of  function  or  faculties,  and  is  so 
constituted  that  the  action  of  each  produces  pleasure  and 

303 


Unselfishness  at  Home. 

only  pleasure.  The  sum  total  of  man's  happiness,  then, 
depends  on  the  number  of  faculties  that  he  brings  into 
healthy  and  normal  exercise. 

I  INE  of  these  faculties  is  conscience,  that  voice  in  the 
soul  which  bids  us  do  right,  and  do  unto  others  as 
we  would  have  them  do  unto  us,  a  duty  that  cannot  be  per- 
formed from  selfish  motives.  But  unless  this  duty  be  per- 
formed, we  are  deprived  of  that  exquisite  pleasure  which 
comes  from  the  approval  of  conscience. 

Another  of  our  faculties  is  benevolence,  whose  legiti- 
mate function  is  to  prompt  us  to  love  our  neighbor  as  our- 
selves, the  very  essence  of  unselfishness.  But  if  we  through 
selfishness  refuse  to  fulfill  this  function,  we  must  forego 
that  pure  and  exalted  pleasure  of  which  it  has  been  de- 
clared "it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive."  Man 
is  a  social  being,  and  from  his  several  social  faculties 
derives  by  far  the  greatest  portion  of  his  happiness  ;  but 
only  as  he  observes  the  golden  rule.  For  society  will  not 
be  cheated.  Its  system  of  bookkeeping  is  perfect,  and  he 
who  expects  to  receive  from  society  more  than  he  is  willing 
to  give  in  return  will  be  sadly  disappointed. 

And  so  it  is  that  all  those  faculties  which  relate  men  to 
their  fellow  men  can  yield  us  no  pleasure  so  long  as  we 
are  selfish.  By  selfishness  we  are  cut  off  from  the  pleas- 
ures arising  from  the  action  of  a  large  number  of  the  most 
important  faculties  of  the  mind.  To  use  a  paradox,  the 

304 


Unselfishness  at  Home. 

only  rational  and  consistent  selfishness  is  that  of  unsel- 
fishness. 

If  we  desire  our  own  highest  pleasure  we  cannot  obtain 
it  till  we  forget  our  object. 

If  this  be  true  with  reference  to  the  great  world,  how 
much  truer  is  it  with  reference  to  the  little  world,  the 
home.  Perhaps  the  truest  picture  of  total  depravity 
which  the  mind  can  paint  is  that  of  a  home  where 
selfishness  reigns. 

Selfishness  is  fatal  to  the  very  existence  of  home. 
Home  may  be  defined  as  a  unitary  portion  of  society, 
bound  together  by  a  stronger  degree  of  love  than  exists 
between  the  different  members  of  the  human  family  in 
general.  Home  and  selfishness  are  nearly  opposite  in  their 
meaning,  and  cannot  exist  together  any  more  than  love 
and  hate. 

Selfishness,  then,  is  fatal  to  love  ;  and  since  love  is  the 
basis  of  home,  it  follows  that  selfishness  is  the  great  de- 
stroyer of  home. 

As  in  the  outward  world,  he  who  falls  in  love  with 
himself  always  has  the  field  clear,  no  rivals  ever  molesting 
him ;  so  in  the  home,  he  who  makes  his  own  happiness 
paramount,  to  that  same  extent  severs  his  connection  with 
the  family,  and  becomes,  in  a  certain  sense,  an  outcast. 
The  sister,  perceiving  the  brother's  selfishness,  will  seek 
other  companions,  and  thus  a  coldness  and  indifference 
springs  up  between  brother  and  sister. 

305 


Unselfishness  at  Home. 

I  HERE  are  many  arguments  in  favor  of  unselfishness, 

^  but  we  have  made  prominent  the  least  and  lowest. 
We  have,  however,  had  a  purpose  in  this.  It  is  to  the 
selfish  we  would  speak.  The  unselfish  require  no  advice  or 
exhortation,  and  from  the  very  nature  of  selfishness  it 
cannot  be  moved  by  any  but  a  selfish  argument. 

Why  is  that  little  street  boy  so  dwarfed  in  his  mental 
and  moral  nature  ?  Why  is  it  usually  so  difficult  to  develop 
one  of  that  class  and  make  him  a  noble  and  powerful  man  ? 
Simply  because  the  selfishness  in  that  wretched  home 
whence  he  came  has  arrested  his  development,  so  that  he 
can  never  be  anything  but  a  child.  He  can  seldom  be 
trusted,  because  the  early  selfishness  at  home,  engendered 
by  misery  and  want,  it  may  be,  has  left  its  demon  cunning 
in  his  mind. 

It  is  a  fact  with  which  all  are  familiar,  that  the  charac- 
ter is  written  in  the  face.  If  we  cannot  read  it,  it  is  not 
because  it  is  not  written  there,  but  because  of  our  lack  of 
skill  to  interpret  it.  Yet  there  are  few  so  obtuse  that 
they  cannot  distinguish  between  selfishness  and  generosity. 
Who  has  not  noticed  the  narrow,  pinched,  and  indescrib- 
ably repulsive  countenance  of  the  miser  ?  Who  has  not 
contrasted  it  with  the  open,  frank,  and  attractive  counte- 
nance of  the  philanthropist? 

It  seems  as  if  the  very  selfishness  of  the  world  should 
make  us  unselfish  at  home.  Think  of  the  pain  and  suffer- 
ing that  is  born  of  selfishness  !  As  you  gather  round  the 

306 


Unselfishness  at  Home. 

board  of  plenty  for  the  evening  repast,  or  round  the  roar- 
ing fire  while  the  storm  sends  its  fitful  but  harmless  gusts 
against  the  windows,  think  of  the  pale,  sad  faces  that  are 
pressing  against  the  panes  of  dingy  hovels,  gazing  into  the 
starless  night  in  the  imploring  anguish  of  hunger  and  cold 
and  want.  How,  with  this  sad  thought  in  mind,  can  little 
brothers  and  sisters  be  selfish  at  home  ?  How  can  they 
quarrel,  as  they  sometimes  do,  over  an  apple  or  a  pear, 
when  they  remember  that  there  are  thousands  who  would 
gladly  gather  up  the  leavings  that  they  trample  under 
their  feet,  and  devour  them  with  the  eagerness  of  a  starv- 
ing dog? 

The  young  man  who  is  selfish  at  home,  who  is  eager  to 
get  the  largest  and  fairest  apple,  and  does  not  seek  to 
share  it  with  sister  or  brother,  surely  will  not  share  it  with 
wife  and  children,  when  he  becomes  the  possessor  of  a 
home.  Let  young  women  beware  of  those  young  men 
who  are  selfish  at  home  ;  for  if  they  do  not  manifest  their 
selfishness  in  the  open  of  society,  it  is  only  from  policy, 
or  lack  of  opportunity. 

IT  is  a  fact  which  mathematics  alone  cannot  explain, 
that  the  more  affection  we  leave  at  home  the  more 
we  carry  with  us. 

There  is  something  in  the  nature  of  selfishness, 
whether  at  home  or  in  society,  that  makes  it  peculiarly 
repugnant  to  us,  and  leads  us  instinctively  to  brand  it  as 

307 


Unselfishness  at  Home. 

among  the  most  ignoble  of  vices.  There  is  hardly  another 
vice  that  has  not  some  shadow  of  a  redeeming  feature. 
We  pity  the  drunkard,  perhaps  because  his  almost  pro- 
verbial generosity  appeals  to  our  sympathies.  He  cannot, 
from  the  very  nature  of  his  sin,  be  a  narrow,  miserly  soul. 
Even  robbers  and  murderers  may  have  some  attractive 
qualities.  It  costs  us  an  effort  not  to  admire  such  charac- 
ters as  Lightfoot  and  Thunderbolt,  who  spent  their  lives  in 
robbing  the  rich  that  they  might  give  to  the  poor.  Of 
course  all  such  crimes  are  heinous  in  the  sight  of  God,  and 
should  be  in  the  sight  of  man,  but  they  almost  always  are 
accompanied  by  some  virtues,  and  as  we  do  not  always 
stop  to  separate  the  crimes  from  the  attending  virtues,  we 
sometimes  do  not  hate  them  as  we  ought. 

But  this  difficulty  does  not  exist  in  the  case  of  selfish- 
ness, for  it  has  no  redeeming  features.  It  stands  alone  in 
its  ignominy,  a  black  picture  on  a  background  of  infinite 
hatefulness. 

"  Oh,  if  the  selfish  knew  how  much  they  lost, 
What  would  they  not  endeavor  and  endure 
To  imitate,  as  far  as  in  them  lay, 
Him  who  his  wisdom  and  his  power  employs 
In  making  others  happy." 


308 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIX. 


Patience. 


has  been  defined  as  "the  courage  of 
virtue,"  and  the  definition  seems  to  us  peculiarly 
appropriate,  for  it  is  that  quality  of  the  soul  that 
bids  it  stand  firm  at  the  post  of  duty  where  God  has  placed 
it,  undaunted  by  the  assaults  of  vice.  It  is  that  which 
closes  the  lips  against  all  complaining,  and  folds  its  wings 
over  a  wounded  heart  and  waits. 

It  is  a  noble  thing  to  act,  but  it  is  a  nobler  thing  to 
wait,  for  to  act  is  the  soul's  most  natural  tendency.  It  is 
its  first  and  simplest  desire.  The  child  takes  no  account  of 
time  or  indirect  motion  in  the  gratification  of  its  wish. 

Place  a  brute  within  a  few  feet  of  food,  but  make  the 
only  possible  means  of  reaching  it  indirect ;  make  it  neces- 
sary that  he  should  first  go  back  from  the  food,  perhaps 
out  of  sight  of  it,  for  a  moment,  and  then  by  a  -circuitous 
route  come  around  to  it.  Under  these  conditions  the  brute 
will  starve  in  sight  of  the  food.  This  would  not  be  merely 
an  experiment  upon  the  brute's  intellect ;  it  would  involve 
this  principle  of  patience.  The  impatience  of  the  brute  in 

309 


Patience. 

this  case  would  be  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  not  passed 
that  stage  in  which  all  gratification  is  sought  by  direct  and 
uninterrupted  action.  This  brute  impatience  cannot  go 
from  the  object  of  its  desire,  even  when  intellect  declares 
such  an  act  necessary.  It  is  quite  essential  in  this  experi- 
ment, however,  that  we  select  the  right  kind  of  brute,  for 
there  are  brutes  which  are  endowed  with  a  wonderful 
degree  of  patience. 

We  may  forcibly  illustrate  from  the  brute  kingdom 
both  patience  and  impatience.  Those  which  are  endowed 
with  patience  are  not  usually  those  which  are  most  intelli- 
gent. This  shows  that  the  phenomenon  in  the  foregoing 
experiment  is  not  an  intellectual  one.  An  ox,  which 
possesses  considerable  intelligence,  would  stand  and  fret 
for  hours  before  it  would  go  back  from  the  food,  while  the 
rat,  which  possesses  far  less  intelligence,  would  set  itself  to 
work  at  once,  and  dig,  if  need  be,  for  a  whole  night 
through  solid  earth.  He  would  go  back,  or  round,  or  over, 
or  under  ;  in  short,  he  would  labor  patiently  till  his  efforts 
were  crowned  with  success. 

This  quality  of  patience  in  brutes  does  not  seem  to  bear 
any  relation  to  their  rank  in  the  scale  of  intelligence,  and 
yet  it  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  noblest  attributes, 
either  of  man  or  brute  ;  for  the  fact  that  a  quality  is  pos- 
sessed by  a  brute  does  not  prevent  it  from  being  among  the 
noblest  human  attributes. 


310 


Patience. 

r*  VEN  the  great  mass  of  mankind  have  not  yet  passed 
*^^A  that  stage  in  which  they  cannot  bide  the  lapse  of 
time  between  a  desire  and  its  gratification.  It  is  a  charac- 
teristic of  the  highest  souls  to  feel  that  they  may  be 
approaching  the  object  of  their  desire  while  they  see  it 
receding. 

It  is  true  that  it  requires  but  little  intellectual  power  to 
see  that  in  many  cases  this  may  be  so  ;  and  yet  there  is  a 
wide  difference  between  a  mere  intellectual  conception  and 
that  attribute  of  the  soul  which  converts  the  conception 
into  a  living  truth.  The  wide  gulf  that  stretches  between 
the  mere  intellectual  assent  to  the  highest  spiritual  fact, 
and  that  element  in  the  soul  which  takes  hold  of  it  as  a 
part  of  its  own  living  self,  is  just  that  which  stretches 
between  faith  and  reason,  patience  and  impatience. 

In  this  view  of  the  subject  patience  is  allied  to  faith. 
Patience  is  that  which  makes  us  willing  to  wait,  and  faith 
is  that  which  makes  us  feel  that  the  waiting  will  bear  us  a 
sweet  fruition. 

Patience  is  a  higher  and  grander  virtue  than  the  world 
has  yet  acknowledged.  It  is  that  noble  element  which 
appreciates  time  and  indirect  motion  in  the  gratification  of 
desires.  It  is  allied  to  the  divine  instinct  of  the  tree,  that 
waits  for  the  flower  and  the  fruit. 

Trials,  sorrow,  and  death  await  us  all.  It  is  useless 
to  attempt  to  escape  them,  for  they  are  inevitable.  They 
are  the  frosts  that  open  the  hard  burrs  of  human  hearts. 

311 


Patience. 

But  it  is  only  as  instruments  in  the  hands  of  patience  that 
they  become  ministrant  to  our  development. 

God  imposes  upon  man  the  obligation  to  no  virtue 
which  he  has  not  first  woven  into  the  constitution  of 
Nature.  Every  cardinal  virtue  is  first  a  cosmical  law. 
Thus  the  grand  virtue  of  patience  is  eternally  mated  with 
Nature's  law  of  constancy.  It  is  the  patience  of  Nature 
that  rears  and  completes  the  proud  temple  of  the  oak.  It 
is  her  patience  through  which  the  never-wearying  rootlet 
embraces  the  rocky  ribs  of  the  moveless  bowlder.  Through 
what  long  and  weary  ages  has  Nature  pounded  on  the 
granite  doors  of  giant  mountains,  pleading  for  the  crumbs 
that  fall  from  the  rocky  tables,  that  she  may  bear  them 
down  to  the  vales,  to  feed  the  hungry  guests  that  wait  in 
her  halls  below.  Through  uncounted  eras  she  has  stood 
with  patient  hand  and  sifted  into  river  beds  and  ocean 
depths  the  fine  alluvial  morsels  that  she  begged  from  miser 
mountains.  Thus  does  patience  bear  the  credentials  of  its 
own  divinity. 

It  is  the  same  patience,  divinely  born,  that  we  trace 
through  all  the  instinctive  movements-  and  laborious  life  of 
bee,  and  spider,  and  architectonic  beaver.  The  great  law 
of  patience  bears  the  same  divine  approval,  whether  we 
find  it  in  the  silent  consecutiveness  of  natural  law,  in  the 
tireless  movements  of  the  laboring  ant,  in  the  sweet  inno- 
cence of  childhood  building  its  playhouse,  in  the  stern 
bread-battle  of  human  life,  in  the  pale,  wasting  vigilance 

312 


Patience. 

of  the  brain-toiling,  star-reading  scientist,  or  in  divine  sim- 
plicity, thorn-crowned  and  bleeding,  on  the  quaking  brow 
of  Calvary.  Thus  patience  is  divine,  and  to  be  patient  is 
to  be  God-like. 

1>J  ATIENCE  is  the  grandest  representative  of  God.  It 
V — A  has  been  the  captain  of  the  divine  forces;  out 
from  the  fiery  halls  of  chaos  it  has  led,  in  shining  battal- 
ions, the  helmeted  stars.  On  earth  it  has  produced  the 
highest  results  that  mark  the  career  of  man.  There  is  no 
shining  goal  of  human  glory  too  bright  or  too  remote  for 
patience.  No  height  can  tire  its  wing.  Strike  from  the 
firmament  of  human  greatness  every  star  that  has  been 
placed  there  by  the  hand  of  patience,  and  you  cover 
that  firmament  with  the  veil  of  midnight  darkness.  It  is 
patience,  that  has  crushed  mighty  evils  and  wrought  sub- 
lime reforms  in  human  history  ;  patience,  that  dared  to 
stand  up  and  meet  the  taunts  of  ignorance  and  bigotry  ; 
patience,  that  has  calmly  walked  back  into  the  shadow  of 
defeat,  with  "  Thy  will  be  done  "  upon  its  lips  ;  patience, 
that  'has  breathed  the  fiery  smoke  of  torment  with  upturned 
brow. 

Truly  has  it  been  said,  "  Patience  comforts  the  poor 
and  moderates  the  rich  ;  she  makes  us  humble  in  prosper- 
ity, cheerful  in  adversity,  unmoved  by  calumny,  and  above 
reproach  ;  she  teaches  us  to  forgive  those  who  have  injured 
us,  and  to  be  the  first  in  asking  the  forgiveness  of  those 

313 


Patience. 

whom  we  have  injured  ;  she  delights  the  faithful,  and 
invites  the  unbelieving  ;  she  adorns  the  woman  and 
approves  the  man  ;  she  is  beautiful  in  either  sex  and  every 
age." 

IT  is  the  sin  of  this  high-pressure  age,  that  it  cannot 
wait.  We  have  yet  to  learn  from  orchard  and  gar- 
den that  the  best  in  nature  ripens  slowest.  The  American 
child  has  much  to  learn,  in  this  respect,  from  English  and 
German  children,  especially  the  latter  ;  the  Germans  are 
the  world's  models  of  patience. 

The  American  boy  reads  the  life  of  some  eminent  man, 
and  immediately  he  is  fired  with  a  desire  to  be  like  him. 
He  ignores  the  elements  of  time  and  indirect  action.  He 
sets  aside  the  factor  of  life's  developing  hardships,  and 
entertains  the  insane  idea  that  he  can  be  like  his  ideal  in  a 
short  time.  He  buys  advanced  works  on  his  special 
theme.  He  cannot  stop  to  master  the  elementary  works. 
His  theory  is  that  the  greater  includes  the  less.  He  sits  up 
late  at  night,  vainly  trying  to  comprehend  his  ponderous 
books,  until  he  becomes  discouraged  and  abandons  all 
further  attempts  to  be  a  great  man. 

Now  the  fact  of  his  wild  enthusiasm  proves  that  he 
had  in  him  the  elements  of  greatness,  a  greatness  that 
would  have  justified  his  aspirations,  had  not  the  American 
vice  of  impatience  crushed  it  in  the  bud.  The  world  is  full 
of  such  defeated  greatness.  Genius  with  patience  is 

314 


Patience. 

invincible  and  divine,  but  without  patience  it  is  a  blind 
Ulysses  groping  in  the  darkness. 

"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to   blush  unseen." 

only  because  it  insists  on  being  seen   before  it  has  blos- 
somed, and  the  world  will  not  look  at  it. 


VOUNG  men  are  apt  to  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to 

^     reach  the  goal  of  their  aspiration.     Now  and  then 

we  find  one,  who,  in  his  youth,  is  willing  to  study  with 

patience,  and 

"  Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait." 

But  the  great  majority  of  young  men  seem  to  feel  that 
the  highest  triumph  of  life  is  to  complete  their  education  in 
their  teens.  And  such  ones  are  apt  to  accomplish  that 
exceedingly  lofty  object,  from  the  very  fact  that  those 
who  commence  an  education  with  such  foolish  views  of 
life  are  pretty  sure  to  halt  in  their  pursuit  of  knowledge  at 
about  that  time.  They  are  not  likely  to  add  much  to  the 
stock  of  forced  knowledge  which  they  bring  away  from 
college.  And,  in  such  cases,  even  this  is  not  usually  a 
great  amount,  from  the  fact  of  their  having  gone  to  college 
too  early  to  make  it  of  much  use  to  them. 

It  is  true  that  many  great  and  useful  men  have  com- 
pleted their  college  education  while  very  young,  but  it  was 
because  they  were  by  nature  able  to  do  this  without  impa- 

315 


Patience. 

tient  haste.  Their  genius  had,  perhaps,  a  slight  tinge  of 
precocity,  an  element,  however,  which  constitutes  no  part 
of  genius.  It  is  entirely  foreign  to  it,  and  may  exist,  and 
far  oftener  does,  in  connection  with  talents  that  are  below 
mediocrity.  Genius  consists  in  a  special  aptitude  for  labor, 
patient  labor. 

The  common  schools  are  a  living  monument  of  the 
impatience  of  America,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  the 
monument  may  yet  crumble  with  its  own  weight.  They 
may  yet  thwart  the  very  object  of  that  intense  and  head- 
long desire  of  which  the  impatience  both  of  parents  and 
educators  is  the  expression.  Neither  Greece  nor  Rome 
attained  her  glory  through  such  impatient  culture. 


there  is  another  reason  why  we  should  cultivate 
patience.  It  is  conducive  to  health  and  longevity. 
No  impatient  man  ever  died  of  old  age.  Impatience  is  a 
friction  in  the  wheels  of  life.  Intemperance  will  not  wear 
out  the  machinery  of  life  sooner  than  impatience.  And 
not  only  does  the  patient  man  live  longer  than  the  impa- 
tient man,  when  length  of  life  is  computed  in  years  and 
months,  but  he  also  lives  longer  in  another  and  important 
sense.  In  computing  the  duration  of  a  human  life  in  the 
actual  sense  of  life,  if  we  wish  to  obtain  the  result  in  min- 
utes and  seconds,  we  must  strike  out  from  the  calculation 
all  those  minutes  and  seconds  in  which  he  does  not  live  in 

316 


Patience. 

the  proper  sense  of  the  word.  This  would  include  all 
periods  of  unconsciousness,  of  intoxication,  and  of  mental 
alienation, —  in  short,  all  moments  which,  when  past,  leave 
in  our  nature  no  rational  record  of  their  passage. 

Now  the  patient  man  has  a  calm  and  rational  apprecia- 
tion of  each  moment  of  his  conscious  life,  and  his  moments 
of  unconsciousness  are  fewer  than  those  of  the  impatient 
man.  The  patient  man,  as  a  general  rule,  requires  less 
sleep  than  one  who  is  impatient,  for  the  brain  and  all  the 
physical  powers  require  time  for  recuperation  in  sleep  just 
in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  waste  during  wakefulness. 
But  nothing  so  wastes  the  vital  and  mental  power  as  the 
spasmodic,  fitful,  ineffectual,  and  half  unconscious  move- 
ments, thoughts,  and  feelings  of  the  impatient  man.  "  Well, 
I'm  tired,  but  I  haven't  done  anything,"  is  the  habitual 
expression  of  the  impatient,  while  the  patient  accomplish  a 
great  deal  but  are  seldom  tired.  The  reason  is  plain.  The 
impatient  man  cannot  stop  to  see  where  to  take  hold,  and 
so  takes  hold  several  times,  and  makes  as  many  useless 
movements,  all  of  which  weary  and  exhaust.  But  the 
patient  man  takes  hold  in  the  right  place  the  first  time,  and 
thus  not  only  saves  time,  but  physical  and  mental  energy. 
And  so  while  the  patient  man  calmly  and  without  friction 
accomplishes  life's  mission,  the  impatient  man  wears  out 
his  powers  and  dies  of  exhaustion  before  he  gets  ready 
to  begin  the  work. 


317 


Patience. 

«'  'Tis  mine  to  work,  and  not  to  win  ; 

The  soul  must  wait  to  have  her  wings ; 
Even  time  is  but  a  landmark  in 
The  great  eternity  of  things. 

"  Is  it  so  much  that  thou  below, 

O  heart,  shouldst  fail  of  thy  desire, 
When  death,  as  we  believe  and  know, 
Is  but  a  call  to  come  up  higher  ?  " 


318 


CHAPTER   TWENTY- SEVEN. 

Religion    in   tne    Home. 


(^  I   HE  time  was  when  home  was  everything,  church, 

^  I       state,  school,  factory,  and  social  club.     Larger  de- 

— •—    velopments  necessitated  new  methods.     One  man 

became  a  shoemaker  for  the  community,  another  a  weaver, 

another  a  carpenter,  another  a  teacher.     Thus  we  have  our 

highly  complex  civilization  with  division  of  labor  as  one 

of  its  marked  characteristics. 

We  smile  at  the  manner  of  doing  things  in  primitive 
times,  but  it  is  well  to  remember  that  in  some  respects  the 
primitive  is  the  ideal  and  departure  from  it  a  deterioration. 

The  home  is  in  danger  .of  becoming  a  mere  place  in 
which  to  eat  and  sleep.  This  is  especially  true  in  the  city. 

It  is  not  possible  or  desirable  to  grind  our  own  grain, 
weave  our  own  cloth,  or  make  our  own  shoes,  nor  can  we 
expect  to  give  the  children  their  education  in  the  home. 
But  it  is  very  desirable  that  we  should  not  depend  solely 
upon  outside  agencies  for  all  that  is  needed  in  the  religious 
life.  In  the  estimation  of  many  parents  the  church  and 
Sunday  school  are  institutions  to  which  may  be  delegated 

319 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

the  entire  work  of  religiously  instructing  and,  they  hope, 
of  saving,  the  children.  They  put  out  to  others  the  family 
washing,  the  family  sewing,  and  —  family  religion. 

The  world  needs  more  home-made  characters.  There 
may  not  be  quite  the  finisli  and  polish  but  there  is  a  rug- 
gedness  and  strength  which  no  outside  training  can  give. 

The  parent  stands  in  the  stead  of  God  to  the  young 
child.  ''According  to  the  first  table  of  the  ten  command- 
ments, which  announces  our  duties  to  God,  religion  is  mor- 
ality looking  Godward ;  according  to  the  second  table, 
which  announces  our  duties  to  man,  morality  is  re- 
ligion looking  manward.  And  the  fifth  commandment, 
'  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother,'  is  the  link  joining  the 
tables,  looking  both  Godward  and  manward.  As  such  it 
is  the  centerpiece  of  the  Decalogue,  the  keystone  of  the 
Sinaitic  arch,"  so  writes  Dr.  George  Dana  Boardman. 

Looking  at  it  in  another  way,  we  may  say  that  the 
parent  is  classed  with  Deity  in  the  first  table  of  the  law, 
and,  in  the  second  table,  we  have  our  negative  duties  to  the 
remainder  of  mankind.  We  honor  parents  with  the  same 
faculty  that  we  worship  God.  This  does  not  belittle  Deity 
but  it  does  exalt  parenthood.  In  our  thinking  we  pass  by 
natural  steps  from  the  seen  to  the  unseen  and  learn  that 
the  latter  is  as  real  as  the  former.  We  see  the  ball  thrown 
into  the  air  but  do  not  see  the  power  of  gravitation  which 
draws  it  down  again.  The  unseen  force  is  as  real  as  would 
be  a  visible  cord.  We  do  not  see  electricity,  but  we  can 

320 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

feel  its  power  or  see  the  light  in  which  it  blazes  forth.  We 
do  not  see  the  wind  but  only  the  trees  swayed  by  its  power 
or  the  ships  which  it  sends  flying  over  the  trackless  waters. 
The  child  knows  the  love  and  strength  and  wisdom  of  the 
parent  whom  it  can  see  and  thus  comes  to  know  the  Heav- 
enly Father  whom  it  cannot  see. 

Parents  who  have  low  ideals  of  parental  responsibility 
and  authority  will  scarcely  be  able  to  lead  their  children  to 
love  and  obey  God.  Again  I  say  the  parents  —  not  one  but 
both  —  must  stand  to  the  child  in  the  stead  of  God,  until  the 
child  is  old  enough  to  come  into  conscious,  personal  rela- 
tion with  God.  This  office  should  not  be  delegated  to 
others,  nor  should  anyone  be  allowed  to  usurp  the  place 
of  parent. 

The  parent  must  be  a  teacher.  There  is  the  uncon- 
scious teaching  by  look,  act,  and  word  —  all  spontaneous. 
There  should  be  deliberate,  premeditated  teaching  as  well, 
and  preparation  for  it.  Clothing  and  food  are  provided  and 
prepared  for  the  children  —  they  are  not  left  to  chance  or 
convenience.  The  physical  life  receives  due  attention,  but 
too  often  the  development  of  the  higher  nature  is  entirely 
neglected.  The  true  perspective  of  existence  is  lost,  the 
present  is  allowed  to  eclipse  the  future  ;  bodies  are  devel- 
oped and  souls  are  dwarfed.  Life  here  means  more  when 
it  is  linked  to  the  life  beyond.  True  religion  makes  one 
more  of  a  man,  it  deprives  him  of  no  true  good  and  adds  to 
him  the  best.  Religion  sweetens,  strengthens,  elevates 

321 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

home  life.  It  pushes  back  the  horizon  of  existence  and 
makes  one  to  live  in  a  larger  world. 

In  our  cities  the  public  school  system  is  so  shaped 
that  a  general  plan  runs  through  all  the  work  from 
kindergarten  to  high  school.  Every  grade  is  founded 
on  that  below  it  and,  at  the  same  time,  looks  to  the  one 
above  it.  The  school  or  grade  that  ignores  what  is 
above  it  is  scarcely  worthy  of  the  name.  So  the  home 
is  not  an  end  in  itself,  though  it  is  important  enough  for 
that.  It  is  a  means.  It  is  a  lower  grade  in  the  great 
school  of  life  and  is  a  part  in  the  great  plan  which  in- 
cludes both  time  and  eternity.  In  it  there  should  be 
training  for  citizenship  in  the  state  and  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven. 

In  the  preparatory  school  parents  are  teachers  and 
children  are  pupils,  and  matters  of  the  kingdom  of  God 
should  be  as  frankly  and  fully  considered  as  the  affairs 
of  commonwealth  or  country. 

In  this  school  God  is  the  Great  Head  Master  and  his 
authority  should  be  recognized  in  all  the  work.  And  not 
his  authority  alone,  but  his  help.  The  responsibility  of 
training  a  child  is  too  great  for  one  to  attempt  without  the 
aid  of  divine  wisdom  and  power.  The  maker  of  delicate 
mechanism  knows  more  about  the  machine  than  any  man 
who  merely  superintends  its  operations.  Parent,  God  and 
you  must  work  together.  You  cannot  do  the  work  alone, 
and,  I  say  it  reverently,  God  needs  you.  His  plan  is  to 

322 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

work  with  you  and  through  you  for  the  development  of 
noble  Christian  character  in  your  children. 

The  Bible  is  our  great  but  much  neglected  text-book. 
Our  children  grow  away  from  it  in  the  public  schools. 
New  text-books  are  continually  taking  the  place  of  the  old, 
only  to  become  old  themselves  in  a  short  time,  and  be 
replaced  by  others.  But  here  is  the  same  old  text-book 
which  our  parents  and  grandparents  studied,  and  until  it 
has  been  demonstrated  that  nobler  character  than  theirs 
can  be  developed  through  the  use  of  some  other  text-book, 
we  decline  to  make  a  change.  The  permanency  of  the 
text-book  leaves  us  no  excuse  for  not  keeping  abreast  of 
the  development  of  our  children  and  guiding  that  develop- 
ment as  related  to  their  highest  nature. 

The  best  trained  teacher  can  never  relieve  the  parent 
of  the  grave  responsibility  and  God-given  privilege  of 
being  the  spiritual  guide  of  the  child.  But,  alas  !  so  many 
give  their  children  no  religious  instruction  at  home,  and 
give  no  heed  to  what  they  are  taught  elsewhere.  In  many 
cases  it  is  due  to  a  feeling  of  incompetency,  but  the  chief 
cause  is  indifference.  Incompetency  can  be  remedied  by 
resolute  action.  Incompetent  housekeepers  have,  by  deter- 
mined thought  and  work,  become  charmingly  efficient. 
They  have  set  themselves  to  learn  the  art  of  home-making 
and  housekeeping  and  have  mastered  it. 

Every  teacher  is  a  learner,  and  profits  more  by  the 
vocation  than  the  pupil  even.  Therefore  the  parent  is 

323 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

conferring  a  benefit  upon  self  as  well  as  child  in  studying 
and  teaching. 

In  this  text-book,  the  Bible,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  not 
all  parts  are  of  equal  interest  or  value  to  the  child.  Mothers 
discriminate  in  preparing  food  for  the  children,  and  they 
should  "rightly  divide  the  word  of  truth."  Variety  and 
adaptability  are  fundamentals  in  the  culinary  art.  So  with 
Bible  teaching.  The  Bible  contains  both  food  and  medi- 
cine, and  it  has  something  for  every  case  and  condition. 
She  would  be  counted  a  poor  cook  who  would  indiscrim- 
inately mix  together  and  serve,  vegetables,  flour,  meats, 
tonics,  sedatives,  and  flavoring  extracts.  A  little  common 
sense  in  religious  matters  is  valuable  and  all  too  rare. 

The  Bible  is  a  marvelous  book  in  its  variety  and 
adaptability.  Biography,  history,  oratory,  philosophy, 
practical  wisdom,  and  poetry  are  all  here. 

Among  the  world's  classics  it  is  easily  queen,  and  he 
who  is  ignorant  of  this  great  library  is  not  an  educated 
man,  even  though  he  hold  a  college  degree. 

The  man  who  admires  Socrates  will  do  well  to 
become  acquainted  with  Solomon.  The  lover  of  Homer's 
Iliad  or  Odyssey  should  not  remain  ignorant  of  the  Psalms 
of  David  and  the  book  of  Job.  The  student  of  Roman  law 
will  do  well  to  look  to  the  Mosaic  system,  and  he  who 
loves  to  study  the  lives  of  conquerors  and  founders  of 
empires  will  be  poorly  informed  if  he  fail  to  consider  the 
victories  of  Jesus  Christ  and  his  kingdom. 

324 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

In  his  exile  at  St.  Helena,  Napoleon  was  one  day  con- 
versing, as  was  his  wont,  about  the  great  men  of  antiquity, 
and  comparing  himself  with  them.  He  suddenly  turned 
round  to  one  of  his  suite  and  asked  :  "  Can  you  tell  me 
who  Jesus  Christ  was  ? "  The  officer  owned  that  he 
had  not  given  much  thought  to  such  things.  "Well, 
then,"  said  Napoleon,  "  I  will  tell  you."  He  then  com- 
pared Christ  with  himself  and  the  heroes  of  antiquity 
and  showed  how  far  Jesus  surpassed  them.  "  I  think  I 
understand  somewhat  of  human  nature,"  said  he,  "and 
I  tell  you  all  these  were  men,  and  I  am  a  man,  but  not  one 
is  like  Him.  Jesus  Christ  was  more  than  man.  Alex- 
ander, Caesar,  Charlemagne,  and  myself,  founded  great 
empires  ;  but  upon  what  did  the  creation  of  our  genius 
depend  ?  Upon  force.  Jesus  alone  founded  His  empire 
upon  love  and  to  this  very  day  millions  would  die  for  Him. 
*  *  *  Men  wonder  at  the  conquests  of  Alexander,  but 
here  is  a  conqueror  who  draws  men  to  Himself  for  their 
highest  good  ;  who  unites  to  Himself,  incorporates  into 
Himself,  not  a  nation,  but  the  whole  human  race." 

This  ancient  text-book  will  never  become  obsolete  any 
more  than  the  sunshine  will  be  supplanted  by  artificial 
lights. 

So  long  as  men  travel  there  will  be  sale  for  guide 
books.  The  Bible  not  only  tells  us  of  the  unseen  country 
and  how  to  reach  it  but  no  book  ever  written  was  so 

intensely  practical  and  adapted  to  the  needs   of   every- 

325 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

day  life  as  the  Bible.  There  would  be  more  business 
integrity  and  truer  success  if  every  young  man  would 
carry  in  his  pocket  and  study  a  copy  of  the  book  of  Prov- 
erbs. 

"  He  becometh  poor  that  dealeth  with  a  slack  hand  ; 
but  the  hand  of  the  diligent  maketh  rich."  The  slack  hand 
has  no  grip  on  affairs  and  they  slip  through. 

"  A  false  balance  is  abomination  to  the  Lord,  but  a  just 
weight  is  his  delight."  That  is  religion  in  business. 

"As  vinegar  to  the  teeth,  and  as  smoke  to  the  eyes,  so 
is  the  sluggard  to  them  that  send  him."  A  good  warning 
to  boys  who  go  on  errands. 

We  mention  these  because  so  many  think  that  the 
Bible  is  chiefly  for  Sundays  and  the  deathbed. 

Here  the  perplexed  find  wisdom  for  the  affairs  of  life, 
the  thankful  find  a  song.  The  student  of  human  nature 
will  here  find  portrayed  character  of  every  description. 
There  are  many  family  groups.  There  are  happy  instances 
of  careful  home  training,  as  Timothy,  and  dark  pictures  of 
luxurious  neglect,  as  Absalom.  Sowing  and  reaping  run 
through  the  book.  And  it  is  seen  how  some  sow  the  wind, 
and  reap  the  whirlwind. 

It  is  a  book  of  comfort  to  those  in  trouble.  Many  a 
cloud-enveloped  heart  has  seen  a  new  light  break  in  by 
reading,  "  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present 
help  in  trouble."  The  toiler  exhausted  in  body  and  brain 
has  found  himself  girded  with  new  power  by  heeding  the 

326 


Religion  in  the  Home. 

words,  "Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

From  the  home  school  the  children  go  out  to  establish 
other  homes.  May  we  give  them  such  a  model  that  they 
can  do  no  better  than  to  follow  it.  And  may  all  our  learn- 
ing and  living  prepare  for  higher  and  still  higher  promo- 
tions. 


327 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-EIGHT. 

Temperance. 


HE  word  temperance,  from  the  Latin  temperantia, 
meant  simply  moderation,  and  when  it  came  to  be 
first  applied  with  special  emphasis  to  the  use  of 
alcoholic  beverages  it  meant  only  a  moderate  use  of  them, 
and  did  not  convey  the  remotest  idea  of  total  abstinence. 

If  the  fate  of  the  temperance  reform  rested  upon  the 
primitive  significance  of  dead  words,  then,  indeed,  were  its 
advocates  hopeless. 

But  no,  the  temperance  reform  and  the  words  that 
designate  its  glorious  sentiment  were  born  together,  born 
amid  the  thunderstorm  of  oppression,  born  of  the  heartless 
parentage  of  hisses  and  of  scorn,  parents  who  tried  to 
strangle  their  own  offspring,  but  could  not  do  it,  for  it  bore 
upon  its  forehead  the  birthmark  of  immortality.  Its  birth 
was  an  event  that  lay  along  the  inevitable  path  of  human 
development. 

We  will  not  contend  with  those  who  would  prostitute 
their  scholarship  to  rear  a  feeble  argument  upon  the  dusty 
lexicons  of  Greece  and  Rome,  claiming  that  the  world  has 

328 


Temperance. 

never  before  found  occasion  for  a  word  to  designate  the 
total  abstinence  from  intoxicating  beverages.  We  have  no 
wish  to  dispute  the  significance  of  those  old  roots  that  lie 
dead  and  brittle  in  the  soil  of  the  ages. 

These  definitions  were  assigned  by  an  infant  world, 
but  it  has  outgrown  them  now.  We  well  remember  when 
the  word  "star"  signified  to  us  only  a  shining  speck,  only 
a  "  gimlet  hole  to  let  the  light  of  heaven  through."  But  to 
our  ampler  vision  stars  are  the  chariots  of  God  that  glide 
across  the  longitudes  of  night.  Words  are  the  products 
of  human  thought.  They  are  born  amid  the  agonizing 
throes  that  accompany  the  aggressions  of  intellect.  Every 
conquest,  every  victory,  is  marked  by  the  birth  of  a  new 
word  and  the  death  of  an  old  one.  Like  the  corpuscles  of 
the  blood,  they  are  springing  into  being  and  dying  with 
every  pulsation  of  the  world's  brain.  New  ideas,  new 
exigencies,  new  conditions  in  the  evolution  of  society, 
necessitate  a  continual  expansion  of  symbols. 

We  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  there  literally  comes 
into  use  a  new  word  with  every  new  idea.  Much  less  do 
we  mean  that  a  word  actually  becomes  obsolete.  We 
mean  that  language  is  a  thing  of  growth,  that  it  is  modi- 
fied to  meet  the  ever  changing  conditions  of  human  unfold- 
ing, and  that  words  pass  out  of  use  or  change  their  mean- 
ings with  every  outgrown  idea. 


329 


Temperance. 

E  who  does  not  dare  advocate  the  temperance  cause 
to-day  in  its  boldest  and  most  radical  form  is  a 
coward,  and  in  a  certain  sense  a  dead  weight  upon  society. 
But  those  who  steal  the  livery  of  science  and  clothe  them- 
selves in  the  cunning  drapery  of  sophistry  and  become  the 
hired  pleaders  for  passion  and  for  vice,  deserve  the  ever- 
lasting execration  of  humanity.  If  we  summon  the  sad- 
dest meaning  that  "doom  "  possesses  it  is  but  mild  beside 
their  crime.  To  misinterpret  the  divine  message  of  sci- 
ence, and  thus  place  in  the  hands  of  vice  the  devil's  magic 
wand,  is  the  crowning  sin  of  man. 

And  yet  there  are  hundreds  that  incur  this  guilt. 
Men  whose  names  insure  their  recognition  seek  to  defend 
their  own  vices  with  the  awe-inspiring  weapons  of  high 
sounding  technicalities  and  scientific  phrases.  Such  are 
those  who  tell  us  that  alcohol  is  transformed  into  nervous 
tissue,  that  it  is  a  respiratory  food,  etc.  They  tell  us  that 
it  is  nerve  food,  because  its  use  occasions  a  greater  mani- 
festation of  strength  and  nervous  energy.  A  conflagration 
in  a  city  is  usually  attended  with  considerable  activity  on 
the  part  of  its  citizens,  but  fires  are  not  generally  regarded 
as  desirable  stimulants  to  industry.  War  is  always  the 
occasion  of  a  nation's  highest  energy,  but  shall  we,  there- 
fore, say  that  war  is  a  source  of  strength,  and  that  it  feeds 
a  nation  with  the  elements  of  energy  ?  Is  it  not  rather  a 
wasting  process,  and  is  not  the  strength  manifested  in  its 
expenditure  rather  than  in  its  accumulation  ?  We  see  the 

330 


Temperance, 

energy  as  it  goes  out  from  the  nation  in  a  wasting  stream, 
and  not  as  it  goes  in. 

Just  so  with  the  nervous  energy,  it  manifests  itself  in 
its  outward  passage.  The  alcohol  simply  worries  and  frets 
the  nervous  system,  and  causes  it  to  act  in  self-defense  to 
cast  out  the  intruder,  just  as  war  worries  and  frets  a 
nation.  When  a  sliver  is  lodged  in  the  flesh  the  vital 
instincts  are  at  once  summoned  to  the  spot,  and,  with 
might  and  main,  strive  to  cast  out  the  foreign  substance, 
the  intruder  which  has  no  right  to  be  there.  Every  one 
knows  how  this  is  accomplished.  There  is  first  a  redness, 
an  increased  vital  action  in  the  part,  and  a  swelling.  This 
is  because  the  vital  forces  are  aroused  and  rush  to  the 
spot  to  see  what  is  the  matter.  Just  as  the  forces  of  the 
city,  at  the  cry  of  fire,  rush  to  the  spot.  There  is  a  swell- 
ing of  the  city,  in  the  part  affected,  an  increase  of  its  vital 
,  action,  attended  with  symptoms  of  morbid  inflammation, 
almost  exactly  what  happens  in  the  vital  system.  The 
analogy  is  striking,  and  indicates  beyond  a  doubt  that  a 
common  principle  is  involved  in  both  cases.  When  these 
vital  instincts  have  ascertained  what  is  the  matter,  they  set 
themselves  to  work  to  cast  the  sliver  out.  They  throw  up 
around  it  a  secretion  which  cuts  it  off  from  all  connection 
with  the  system,  and  isolates  it,  and  after  a  short  time  it 
falls  out  of  its  own  accord. 

Exactly  in  the  same  way  these  vital  instincts  drive  the 

alcohol  to  the  surface,  through  the  skin,  and  lungs,  and 

331 


Temperance. 

kidneys,  and  brain.  This  is  why,  long  after  alcohol  has 
been  drunk,  its  odor  may  be  detected  in  the  breath.  With 
every  breath  it  is  thrown  out  from  the  lungs.  The  odor 
may  also  be  detected  in  the  perspiration.  As  it  is  borne 
along  the  circulation  to  the  brain,  it  excites  that  organ  to 
an  unnatural  degree  of  activity,  or,  if  the  dose  is  too  great, 
the  vital  instincts  give  up  the  attempt  for  a  time,  the  brain 
sinks  into  a  torpid  state,  and  the  person  is  said  to  be  dead- 
drunk. 


§UT  alcohol  is  said  to  be  a  respiratory  food,  meaning 
that  it  is  burned  in  the  body  like  the  carbon  of  our 
food,  that  it  unites  with  the  oxygen  in  the  lungs,  and 
thus  in  many  cases  prevents  the  tissues  from  consuming 
themselves. 

There  is  but  one  solitary  fact  that  by  any  method  of 
manipulation  can  be  made  to  take  the  semblance  of  an 
argument  in  support  of  this  theory,  and  that  one  fact  is 
that  alcohol  warms  the  system.  But  cayenne  pepper 
warms  the  system,  so  does  quinine,  so  does  sulphuric  acid, 
so  does  pain,  so  does  intense  joy,  so  does  laughter,  so  does 
love,  so  does  hate,  so  do  spasms  and  convulsions,  so  does 
rheumatism,  so  does  a  fever,  so  does  the  cramp  colic. 

All  these,  of  course,  are  respiratory  food,  since  they 
"warm  the  system."  It  is  true  that  our  scientists  (?)  have 
not  yet  succeeded  in  demonstrating  that  the  cramp  colic 

332 


Temperance. 

is  oxidized  in  the  lungs,  but  we  can't  tell  what  the  future 
may  develop. 

When  one  is  suddenly  awakened  from  sleep  to  find 
that  he  must  engage  in  a  hand  to  hand  fight  with  a  mid- 
night assassin,  we  have  a  striking  illustration  of  what 
takes  place  when  the  assassin  alcohol  enters  the  dwelling 
of  the  human  soul.  That  vital  instinct  which  allows  no 
foreign  substance  within  its  domain  at  once  grapples  the 
intruder,  a  sharp  contest  ensues,  in  which  the^  alcohol  is 
beaten  and  driven  out  through  the  open  door  of  the  skin, 
the  kidneys,  the  lungs,  or  the  brain.  And  just  here  is  the 
origin  of  the  heat  which  alcohol  occasions.  It  is  due  to 
the  overaction  of  the  vital  forces  in  their  attempt  to  rid 
themselves  of  a  deadly  foe.  The  midnight  fight,  just 
referred  to,  would  naturally  be  a  warming  process,  but 
we  have  never  known  physicians  to  prescribe  midnight 
assassins  as  respiratory  food.  We  presume,  however,  that 
they  might  take  the  place  of  most  of  the  nostrums  of  the 
materia  medica  with  little  disadvantage  to  the  suffering 
part  of  the  community. 

\  *  FE  must  look  beyond  the  Sons  of  Temperance  or  the 
^  Good  Templars  for  the  secret  of  success  in  the  tem- 
perance reform. 

Organization  is  essential  to  the  success  of  any  great 
reform,  but  it  is  simply  the  machinery  that  is  driven  by  an 
unseen  principle.  It  never  yet  of  itself  wrought  a  revolu- 

333 


Temperance. 

tion.  The  solution  of  the  great  problem  lies  deeper  than 
the  mystery  of  the  "password."  It  lies  in  the  knowledge 
of  natural  law,  in  the  thorough  education  of  the  people. 
When  the  people  realize  that  alcohol  is  in  the  truest  sense 
a  poison,  then  we  may  look  for  gratifying  results  in  the 
temperance  reform.  Whether  it  shall  be  through  legis- 
lation or  personal  conviction,  the  future  must  be  left  to 
decide. 

Expert  testimony  regarding  the  medicinal  properties  of 
alcohol  and  the  pathology  of  alcoholism  is  doing  much  to 
leaven  popular  opinion.  It  is  to  such  testimony,  vouched 
for  alike  by  the  scientist  and  the  moralist,  initiating  itself 
into  the  fundamental  principles  of  modern  medicine  and 
moral  therapeutics,  that  we  must  look  as  largely  as  to  any 
other  agency  for  guidance  in  the  solution  of  a  problem  of 
such  gigantic  proportions.  Indeed  it  is  entirely  within  the 
range  of  possibility  that  modern  chemistry  shall  yet  be 
able  to  eliminate  those  properties  of  alcohol  known  as 
nervous  excitants,  and  still  conserve  its  sinapismic  proper- 
ties. If  this  can  be  successfully  accomplished,  it  would 
then  be  easy  to  relegate  the  sinister  alcohol  to  its  rightful 
place  among  poisons. 

I  HERE  is  one  fact  with  which  the  temperance  reform 
^  has  to  contend,  more  formidable  than  all  others  com- 
bined.    It  is  the  fact  that  people  so  readily  yield  to  the 

334 


Temperance. 

argument  of  their  feelings.  It  requires  much  intellectual 
courage  not  to  believe  what  our  feelings  tell  us. 

It  is  a  fact  that  alcohol  often  makes  people  feel  better. 
It  elevates  their  spirits  and  makes  them  feel  strong,  buoy- 
ant, and  hopeful.  Under  such  circumstances  it  requires 
almost  a  divine  argument  to  convince  them  that  they  are 
not  being  benefited. 

Temperance  will  triumph  when  the  argument  of  reason 
becomes  stronger  than  that  of  feeling  with  the  masses. 
We  are  so  constituted  that  our  feelings  are  generally  final 
in  their  authority.  Hence  the  necessity  of  distinguishing 
between  the  significance  of  the  natural  and  the  artificial. 
People  must  be  taught  to  do  this  before  we  can  expect 
them  to  abandon  the  use  of  alcohol. 

How  then  shall  this  be  brought  about  ?  Surely  not  by 
legislation,  not  by  seizures  and  fines,  but  by  the  slow  and 
laborious  process  of  education.  This  education  must  be 
specific,  and  must  be  directed  for  the  most  part  to  the 
rising  generation.  The  pathetic  stories  of  reformed  drunk- 
ards may  have  their  influence  in  shaping  public  sentiment, 
but  at  best  they  can  be  only  subsidiary  to  a  more  substan- 
tial and  abiding  force.  Legal  measures  may  serve  their 
purpose,  but  the  reformatory  efforts  should  be  directed 
mainly  to  the  securing  of  that  condition  which  shall  render 
legal  measures  unnecessary.  This  condition  must  be 
sought  in  the  education  of  the  children,  who  not  only  must 
be  taught  to  correctly  distinguish  the  natural  and  normal 

335 


Temperance. 

appetites  from  the  unnatural  and  abnormal,  but  must  be  so 
trained,  in  this  respect,  that  they  shall  have  no  unnatural 
and  abnormal  appetites.  Unnatural  appetites  are  in  part 
the  product  of  wrong  physical  training,  and  intemperance 
is  the  product  of  unnatural  appetites.  Hence  wrong 
training  is  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  intemperance  and  its 
consequent  ills. 

I N  our  chapter  on  home  training  we  have  spoken  of  the 
process  by  which  wrong  physical  training  produces 
drunkards.  We  repeat  its  substance,  however,  for  the 
sake  of  special  emphasis.  With  a  good  healthy  boy  as 
material,  and  plenty  of  candy,  pastry,  pickles,  and  medi- 
cine as  tools,  any  mother  has  a  fair  chance  to  manu- 
facture a  drunkard.  The  process  is  extremely  simple. 
Drunkenness,  as  we  have  said,  is  the  product  of  a  diseased 
or  unnatural  appetite,  and  the  appetite  may  be  diseased  or 
rendered  unnatural  by  taking  advantage  of  the  slight 
caprice  which  all  appetites  possess,  especially  in  the  civil- 
ized world,  thus  causing  it  to  accept  at  times  that  which  it 
otherwise  would  not,  and  which  it  does  not  naturally  crave. 
Unnatural  appetites  crave  unnatural  food,  and  accord- 
ingly unnatural  food  will  in  its  turn  induce  an  unnatural 
appetite  ;  so  that  all  a  mother  who  desires  to  experiment 
in  this  direction  has  to  do  is  to  give  her  boy  unnatural 
food.  Every  mother  knows  what  we  mean  by  unnatural 
food.  It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  enumerate  the  many 

330 


Temperance. 

articles  to  which  this  adjective  is  applicable.  The  phrase 
at  once  suggests  to  the  ordinary  mind  the  abominations  of 
spice,  pickle,  pork,  and  pastry,  which  fill  the  dining-halls  of 
civilization  with  their  sickly  odors,  that  would  nauseate 
the  healthier  appetites  of  the  South  Sea  Island  cannibals. 

The  mother  who  desires  to  make  a  drunkard  must  tam- 
per with  her  boy's  appetite  by  offering  him  that  which  he 
does  not  crave  ;  by  compelling  him  to  go  without  a  meal  as 
a  punishment  for  some  offense,  and  thus  become  very 
hungry,  so  that  he  will  be  sure  to  overeat  at  the  next  meal ; 
by  compelling  him  always  to  eat  all  that  he  happens  to 
have  in  his  plate  whether  he  desires  it  or  not,  instead  of 
teaching  him  to  drop  his  knife  and  fork  at  the  first  sugges- 
tion of  sated  appetite.  Of  course  we  take  it  for  granted 
that  she  believes  root  beer,  etc.,  etc.,  to  be  "very  whole- 
some." She  should  use  a  great  deal  of  spice  in  her  cooking. 
She  should  aim  to  take  away,  as  completely  as  possible, 
the  natural  flavor  of  fruits  and  vegetables,  and  substitute 
an  artificial  one.  She  should  always  manifest  great 
anxiety  lest  her  boy  should  not  eat  enough  to  "keep  up 
his  strength."  She  should,  of  course,  give  him  plenty  of 
candy  —  it  is  good  for  the  teeth,  that  is,  for  false  teeth. 
But  what  is  of  more  importance  than  everything  else,  she 
should  dose  him  freely  with  medicine  whenever  he  is 
slightly  indisposed.  By  the  way,  we  came  near  forgetting 
to  advise  a  free  use  of  tea  and  coffee. 


337 


Temperance. 

\  i|E  have  said  but  little  about  intemperance  in    the 

^  ordinary  way.  We  have  told  no  stories  of  neglected 
wives  and  broken-hearted  mothers.  We  leave  that  phase 
of  the  subject  to  the  sentimental  lecturer.  But  we  have 
given,  in  language  somewhat  ironical,  that  which  we 
believe  the  people  need,  and  that  which  every  mother 
ought  to  reflect  upon. 

The  one  fact  which  we  have  tried  to  make  prominent  is 
that  the  appetite  for  alcoholic  beverages  is  not  necessarily 
induced  by  the  use  of  these  beverages  themselves,  but  may 
be  created  by  the  use  of  whatever  inflames  the  system,  or 
vitiates  the  taste. 

It  is  sufficient  simply  to  state  that  the  predisposition  to 
alcoholic  intemperance  may  be,  and  often  is,  transmitted 
from  parent  to  child.  This  is  a  fact  which  is  very  gener- 
ally known  ;  but  it  is  not,  perhaps,  so  generally  known, 
that  it  is  often  transmitted  from  grandparent  to  grand- 
child, thus  passing  over  one  and  sometimes  two  genera- 
tions of  temperate  parents.  The  fact  that  intemperance,  or 
a  tendency  to  intemperance,  is  thus  hereditary,  should 
render  all  parents  doubly  vigilant  in  the  training  of  their 
children. 

We  have  aimed  in  this  chapter  at  a  deeper  considera- 
tion of  the  subject  of  temperance  in  its  relation  to  the 
home  life  than  a  mere  enumeration  of  those  superficial 
evils  of  which  society  is  chiefly  cognizant.  The  follow- 

338 


Temperance. 

ing  poem  with  sufficient  accuracy  portrays   this   class   of 
evils  : 

"  Now  horrid  frays 

Commence,  the  brimming  glasses  now  are  hurled 
With  dire  intent ;  bottles  with  bottles  clash 
In  rude  encounter,  round  their  temples  fly 
The  sharp-edged  fragments,  down  their  battered  cheeks 
Mixed  gore  and  cider  flow  ;  what  shall  we  say 
Of  rash  Elpenor,  who  in  evil  hour 
Dried  an  immeasurable  bowl  and  thought 
To  exhale  his  surfeit  by  irriguous  sleep, 
Imprudent  ?  him  death's  iron  sleep  oppressed, 
Descending  from  his  couch  ;  the  fall 
Luxed  his  neck-joint  and  spinal  marrow  bruised. 
Nor  need  we  tell  what  anxious  cares  attend 
The  turbulent  mirth  of  wine  ;  nor  all  the  kinds 
Of  maladies  that  lead  to  death's  grim  care, 
Wrought  by  intemperance,  joint  racking  gout, 
Intestine  stone,  and  pining  atrophy, 
Chill,  even  when  the  sun  with  July  heats 
Fires  the  scorched  soil,  and  dropsy  all  afloat, 
Yet  craving  liquids  ;  nor  the  Centaurs'  tale 
Be  here  repeated :   how,  with  lust  and  wine 
Inflamed,  they  fought,  and  spilt  their  drunken  souls 
At  feasting  hour." 


339 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINE. 


Economy    of  the   Home 


(5  I   HE  : 

4  I     tion 


HE  institution  of  home  is  in  itself  a  divine  applica- 
tion of  the  law  of  economy.     It  contains  the  first 


1  suggestion  of  the  "division  of  labor." 
It  is  a  fact  within  the  observation  of  society  in  general, 
and  has  almost  become  an  adage,  that  man  and  woman 
can  live  at  less  expense  together  than  separately.  This  is 
certainly  a  benevolent  provision,  offering  as  it  does  another 
inducement  to  the  only  legitimate  life,  the  home  life. 

Nature  is  the  model  economist.  She  never  wastes  a 
leaf,  and  yet  she  is  the  most  benevolent  of  all  givers.  Sho 
will  give  you  without  stint  of  her  golden  cheeked  and  lus- 
ciously flavored  fruits,  and  yet  she  never  throws  away  even 
her  decayed  products,  but  turns  them  into  her  laboratory 
and  makes  them  over  into  good  fruit,  a  subtle  reproof  to 
the  unfrugal  housewife  who  throws  away  the  remains  of 
the  supper,  that  might  be  warmed  over  for  breakfast. 
Nature  knows  the  secret  of  being  both  economical  and 
generous,  she  knows  how  to  be  frugal  without  being  penu- 
rious. She  is  not  lazy,  and  yet  she  always  takes  the  short- 
est path.  Of  two  equally  good  conductors  the  electric 
charge  always  takes  the  shorter.  It  will  even  choose  the 

340 


Economy  of  Home. 

poorer  conductor  rather  than  take  the  longer  one.  The 
principle  of  "  least  action  "  in  mechanics  is  of  the  same 
nature.  These  facts  show  that  economy  is  a  law  of  nature 
and  pervades  the  very  soul  of  the  universe. 

not  only  is  it  a  law  of  the  outward  universe,  it  is 
an  innate  sentiment  or  instinct  of  human  nature,  — 
and  not  only  of  human  nature,  but  of  all  conscious  exist- 
ence. We  see  it  manifested  in  the  squirrel,  when  he 
gathers  during  the  autumn  his  store  of  nuts  and  corn  for 
his  sustenance  during  the  coming  winter. 

The  same  instinct  that  prompts  the  squirrel  to  do  this 
is  the  moving  impulse  of  the  great  commercial  world.  In 
both  instances  it  is  simply  an  instinct,  a  faculty  that 
brings  its  possessor  into  sympathy  with  the  economic  law 
that  governs  the  movements  of  nature.  It  is  the  instinct 
of  economy  that  tells  the  worm,  the  bee,  the  cat,  the  dog, 
and,  in  short,  all  animals,  that  a  straight  line  is  the  short- 
est distance  between  two  points,  and  that,  as  well  as  math- 
ematics, makes  it  to  the  human  intellect  an  axiom. 

The  law  of  economy,  then,  is  simply  that  by  which  all 
necessary  results  in  nature  are  brought  about  with  the 
least  possible  expenditure  of  force,  and  what  we  call 
economy  in  man  is  an  instinctive  appreciation  and  applica- 
tion of  this  law. 

To  the  low  and  mean  the  word  economy  signifies  dis- 
honest acquisition  and  theft.  To  the  honest  but  hard 

341 


Economy  of  Home. 

working  man  it  means  industry  and  frugality.  To  the 
moralist  and  philosopher  it  means  social  science,  civilizing 
tendencies,  and  universal  culture.  So  it  is  that  one's  defi- 
nition of  economy  to  a  certain  extent  defines  his  character 
also.  But  he  who  takes  his  definition  from  the  operations 
of  nature  cannot  err. 

Nature  will  not  allow  an  idle  atom  in  her  realm.  She 
compels  every  raindrop  to  become  her  minister,  to  bear 
her  proffered  treaty  between  the  warring  clouds  and  earth, 
and  thus  disarm  them  of  their  wrath,  and  with  its  subtle 
diplomacy  to  reconcile  them  to  the  pledge  of  peace.  And 
with  an  eye  to  the  economy  of  travel  she  bids  her  messen- 
gers pause  upon  the  mountain  summit,  as  they  pass  from 
cloud  to  earth,  and  take  down  with  them  from  decaying 
rocks  and  mountain  gorges  a  load  of  timber  from  which  to 
form  her  fertile  soil. 

She  makes  the  birds  and  zephyrs  her  husbandmen  to 
garner  and  sow  the  seeds  of  myriad  plants.  She  bends  the 
neck  of  the  proud  lightning,  and  makes  it  her  scavenger 
to  purify  the  atmosphere.  She  lays  her  shaggy  mountains 
on  the  toiling  backs  of  earthquakes,  and  bids  them  lift  the 
burden  to  the  sky.  She  makes  the  omnipresent  oxygen 
her  domestic  servant,  and  tasks  his  eyesight  and  skillful 
fingers  to  unravel  her  snarled  and  complicated  skeins  of 
chemical  elements  ;  or,  if  she  will,  exalts  him  to  the  higher 
office  of  attorney,  and  pleads  through  him  for  the  divorce 
of  unhappily  wedded  constituents. 

342 


Economy  of  Home. 

The  home  is  the  reproduction  of  nature  on  a  small 
scale,  and  not  the  least  so  in  this  matter  of  economy. 

NATURE  is  the  pattern  for  the  home,  and  every  man 
and  woman  who  in  any  capacity  represent  a  home 
should  take  advantage  of  her  example,  and  learn  a  lesson 
from  the  way  in  which  she  scrapes  up  her  "odds  and  ends," 
and  utilizes  them.  To  all  of  us  she  says,  "Accumulate  all 
you  can  ;  employ  every  moment ;  let  no  opportunity  pass 
without  grasping  its  hand  to  see  if  there  is  not  hidden  in  its 
palm  a  golden  coin." 

But  Nature  is  no  miser.  Her  economy  does  not  consist 
in  meanness.  She  accumulates  that  she  may  give.  She  is 
honest  and  will  do  as  she  agrees.  We  need  not  take  her 
note,  her  word  is  good.  It  is  a  law  founded  in  the  eternal 
beneficence  of  things.  It  is  written  on  every  tree  whose 
friendly  foliage  shields  us  from  the  scorching  sun  ;  on  every 
sparkling  rivulet  that  weeps  soft  tears  of  rain  upon  the 
thirsty  land,  which  in  its  turn  gives  back  the  gracious  trib- 
ute of  its  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  with  an  answering  com- 
pliment flings  its  rich  gift  of  roses  to  deck  the  river  banks  ; 
on  every  circling  satellite,  upon  the  moon's  sweet  face,  who 
in  her  modesty  sends  down  to  us  the  flood  of  kisses  which 
the  sun,  her  gallant  lover,  showers  upon  her  blushing 
brow, —  on  all  of  these  is  written  the  great  law,  that  to  give 
is  to  receive,  and  whoever  would  receive  must  give. 

The  prudent  farmer,  while  he  is  generous  and  free,  will 

343 


Economy  of  Home. 

still  allow  no  stream  of  fertility  to  run  to  waste.  While 
he  is  industrious  and  ever  active,  he  will  still  compel  the 
wind  and  water  to  saw  his  wood  and  thresh  his  grain  and 
grind  his  corn.  He  will  make  the  forest  mold  fertilize  his 
field  of  corn.  There  is  no  dishonesty  in  turning  our  labor 
over  to  Nature.  She  expects  to  do  all  of  our  work  before 
long,  but  not,  however,  till  she  is  requested  to  do  so.  She 
never  forces  her  services  on  us.  We  must  first  tell  her 
just  what  we  wish  her  to  do,  and  how  we  wish  her  to  do  it. 
We  must  furnish  the  tools  for  her  to  work  with.  And  even 
then,  if  they  do  not  suit  her,  she  will  not  work.  She  will 
not  draw  a  train  of  cars,  unless  she  can  have  a  delicately 
constructed  engine  expressly  for  her. 

I  HE  reason  why  men  employed  Nature  so  little  in  the 

V  past  ages  is  because  she  was  so  particular  about 
her  tools  that  they  could  not  suit  her. 

Now  the  highest  economy  is  the  highest  invention. 
That  is,  he  is  the  most  economical  man,  other  things  being 
equal,  who  is  the  most  skillful  in  devising  tools  for  Nature 
to  work  with. 

Home  is  a  broad  field  for  the  exercise  of  invention.  It 
is  chiefly  in  the  home,  or  in  some  way  connected  with 
domestic  life,  that  we  find  that  large  class  of  inventions 
which  minister  directly  to  human  comfort. 

It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  every  great  and  use- 
ful invention  should  be  the  product  of  an  inventive  genius. 

344 


Economy  of  Home. 

On  every  farm  and  in  every  home  there  are  thousands  of 
opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  this  faculty.  The  invent- 
ive farmer  will  make  his  horses  load  his  logs,  while  the 
uninventive  one  must  load  them  himself.  The  inventive 
man  can  repair  his  broken  implements,  while  the  uninvent- 
ive must  take  them  to  the  blacksmith's  or  the  carpenter's, 
and  there  pay, so  much  out  of  the  profits  of  his  daily  labor. 
There  is  no  good  reason  why  every  farmer  should  not  be  a 
blacksmith,  a  carpenter,  and  a  wheelwright.  He  could 
then  repair  his  own  buildings,  shoe  his  own  horses  and 
oxen,  and  make  his  own  carriages.  Few,  perhaps,  have 
ever  stopped  to  estimate  how  much  might  be  saved  in  this 
way.  Nearly  all  that  sort  of  work  may  be  done  during 
days  in  which  nothing  profitable  could  be  accomplished  on 
the  farm.  Since  the  farmer's  work  is  so  varied  he  requires 
but  little  absolute  rest.  Hence,  if  he  were  familiar  with 
these  trades,  the  rainy  days  might  be  made  the  most  prof- 
itable ones  of  the  year.  While  Nature  is  irrigating  his 
farm,  he  might  be  devising  tools  for  her  with  which  to 
perform  some  other  service. 

Again,  the  recreation,  the  discipline,  and  the  exercise 
of  mechanical  ingenuity  thus  afforded  would  have  a  devel- 
oping influence  on  mind  and  body.  It  is  a  fact  worth 
remembering  that  the  men  who  have  made  farming  pay  in 
rocky  New  England  have  nearly  all  been  of  this  sort. 


345 


Economy  of  Home. 

r~*  VERY  wife  and  mother  should  be  a  tailoress,  a  mil- 
V^  liner,  and  a  dressmaker.  She  should  know  some- 
thing about  every  article  needed  in  the  household.  There 
is  no  reason  why  she  should  be  obliged  to  take  the  sewing 
machine  to  the  shop,  or  call  her  husband  to  repair  it  ;  she 
should  have  inventive  talent  enough,  and  might  have  it  if 
she  would  cultivate  it,  to  take  the  machine  to  pieces  and 
put  it  together  again.  She  should  be  able  to  repair  the 
churn  and  solder  the  milk  pans'  Even  if  she  cannot  find 
time  to  make  use  of  these  accomplishments,  they  will 
enable  her  more  readily  to  tell  others  what  she  wishes 
them  to  do  for  her.  She  can  make  better  selections  of 
clothing  for  herself  and  family.  She  can  make  wiser  bar- 
gains in  whatever  she  purchases.  Numberless  are  the 
ways  in  which  knowledge  and  inventive  skill  will  enable 
one  to  save  money. 

I  HE  highest  economy,  however,  does  not  consist 
^  merely  in  saving.  Much  has  been  said,  and  very 
prettily  and  poetically  too,  about  the  saving  of  pennies. 
But  the  pennies  must  first  be  earned.  That  economy 
which  exercises  itself  wholly  in  saving  and  does  not  stimu- 
late the  inventive  and  intellectual  powers  in  the  direction 
of  acquisition  is  almost  sure  to  degenerate  into  meanness 
and  penuriousness.  It  is  very  frequently  the  case  that  the 
saving  propensity  is  carried  so  far  as  to  be  a  positive 
obstruction  to  the  earning.  As  when  the  farmer  refuses  to 

346 


Economy  of  Home. 

hire  help  because  it  must  be  paid  for,  and  thus  allows  his 
crops  to  deteriorate  on  account  of  a  too  late  harvesting,  or 
when  the  wife  refuses  to  employ  a  domestic  servant  and 
becomes  sick  on  account  of  overwork.  It  is  not  economy 
to  mow  all  summer  with  a  scythe,  when  a  few  days'  use  of 
a  machine  would  accomplish  the  same  result.  True  econ- 
omy consists  in  that  broad  and  comprehensive  knowledge 
of  affairs,  that  clear  foresight  and  calculation,  that  will- 
ingness to  spend  money  lavishly  in  the  procuring  of  the 
proper  means,  which,  in  the  moving  of  circumstances, 
gives  us  the  long  arm  of  the  lever. 

There  is  no  more  disgusting  spectacle  than  that  of  a 
penurious  farmer  whose  prosperity  is  crippled  by  his  own 
avarice.  Such  a  man  is  likely  to  be  found  using  a  wooden 
plow  which  his  father  left  him.  He  goes  barefooted  week 
days  in  order  to  make  his  boots  last  two  years  of  Sundays. 
If  he  buys  a  new  coat  he  must  pay  for  it  with  beans  or 
some  product  of  the  farm.  He  must  exchange  directly,  too. 
He  could  not  think  of  selling  the  beans  for  money  and  then 
buying  the  coat,  for  that  would  be  paying  money  for  the 
coat.  Indeed,  he  has  well-nigh  dispensed  with  that  instru- 
ment of  civilization  —  money.  He  has  gone  back  so  far 
toward  barbarism  that  he  desires  to  barter  instead  of  buy 
and  sell  with  money.  Not  because  he  has  no  love  of 
money,  but  because  he  does  have  that  irrational  love  which 
becomes  the  "root  of  all  evil." 

But  some  may  ask  how  that  can  be  the  root  of  all  evil 

347 


Economy  of  Home. 

which  owes  its  existence  to  a  God-given  instinct,  and  finds 
its  guarantee  in  an  eternal  law  of  nature. 

The  irrational  love  of  money  finds  its  guarantee  in  no 
law  or  instinct.  It  is  not  the  moderate  and  normal  love  of 
money  which  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  nor  is  such  love  an  evil 
at  all,  but  a  great  blessing. 

I  HE  sentiment  of  economy  is  one  of  those  which  man- 
^  ifest  themselves  within  very  narrow  limits.  It 
seems  to  be  always  leaning  to  the  one  side  or  the  other, 
and  getting  out  of  its  path.  It  is  apt  to  become  prodigality 
or  penuriousness.  It  requires  much  skill  in  navigation  on 
life's  sea  to  sail  safely  between  these  two  rocks.  When  we 
first  embark  we  are  very  apt  to  run  against  the  rock  of 
prodigality,  but  after  we  have  had  more  experience,  unless 
we  profit  well  by  that  experience,  and  learn  the  golden 
mean,  we  are  prone  to  the  opposite  extreme  and  run  against 
the  rock  of  penuriousness.  It  is  the  inordinate  love  of 
money  for  its  own  sake  that  is  the  root  of  all  evil ;  while 
true  economy  is  the  trusty  helm  that  guides  us  safely 
between  two  dark  and  threatening  rocks. 

This  disposition  to  hoard  money  for  its  own  sake,  inde- 
pendent of  its  proper  function,  is  not,  however,  to  be 
wholly  condemned.  There  is  a  ministry  of  good  in  the 
very  consciousness  of  possession.  It  is  usually  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish the  men  of  wealth  in  a  crowd  of  people,  by  their 
bearing  of  conscious  power.  It  is  the  natural  and  legiti- 

348 


Economy  of  Home. 

mate  condition  of  man  to  feel  that  he  is  in  a  certain  sense 
the  conqueror  and  possessor  of  nature. 

The  lion  is  called  the  king  of  beasts,  not  because  he  is 
the  largest  or  the  strongest,  but  because  he  calls  himself 
the  king  of  beasts.  He  does  this  by  his  noble  bearing,  and 
the  consciousness  of  power.  Now  man,  like  the  lion, 
should  feel  and  manifest  a  sense  of  power,  only  in  a  far 
higher  degree.  It  is  this  conscious  power  manifesting  it- 
self in  the  human  eye  which  accounts  for  the  fact  that 
no  wild  beast  can  withstand  the  human  gaze. 

All  that  is  necessary  to  cause  the  lion  to  skulk  away 
to  the  den  like  a  whipped  cur,  is  to  gaze  full  in  his  eye 
while  you  calmly  maintain  a  consciousness  of  victory  and 
superiority  over  all  that  moves  upon  the  earth. 

This  feeling  in  man  is  the  strongest  safeguard  against 
low  and  mean  acts.  It  places  one  above  meanness.  The 
lion  is  the  most  magnanimous  of  beasts.  He  never  does  a 
mean  act.  This  is  because  of  his  consciousness  of  power, 
which  makes  him  feel  too  noble  to  be  mean. 


I  HIS,   then,  is  our  plea  for  wealth,  that  its  moderate 
^  possession    makes    men    noble  and   magnanimous. 
One  noble,  generous,  wealthy  man  in  a  community  is  some- 
times a  source  of  inspiration  for  hundreds  of  young  men. 

Let  it  be  remarked,  however,  that  the  kind  of  wealth 
which  produces  this  desirable  result  is  that  which  is  born 

349 


Economy  of  Home. 

of  toil  and  economy.  No  man  can  become  suddenly 
wealthy  without  being  injured  thereby,  for  the  mode  of 
thought  and  the  whole  character  must  change  to  meet  the 
conditions  of  wealth.  Whole  new  lines  of  thought,  new 
schemes,  new  plans  of  life,  must  be  originated,  and  this 
change  cannot  take  place  suddenly  without  too  great  a 
shock  to  the  character. 

We  claim  that  no  man  has  any  moral  right  to  extreme 
wealth.  No  man  can  possibly  have  any  moral  right  to 
anything  in  this  life  which  he  does  not  earn,  for  otherwise 
he  must  trespass  on  the  rights  of  his  fellows. 

Men  are  born  destitute  of  all  possessions.  No  one 
brings  anything  into  the  world.  What  right,  then,  has  one 
to  gather  riches  through  another's  toil  and  misfortune  ? 
The  man  who  has  the  ability  to  begin  with  nothing  and 
accumulate  ten  thousand  dollars  by  his  own  industry  and 
economy,  has  just  ability  enough  to  take  care  of  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  and  be  made  better  and  nobler  thereby. 

But  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  grand  as  is  its  possible 
ministry,  is  not,  by  any  means,  the  only  object  that  con- 
cerns the  instinct  and  spirit  of  economy. 

It  is  not  the  chief  object  of  the  economy  of  home. 
The  object  of  home  is  to  mold  character,  and  the  object  of 
home  economy  is,  or  should  be,  the  accumulation  of  all 
those  means  and  instrumentalities  that  minister  to  that 
end. 

Those  things  which  minister  to  the  intellectual  and 

350 


Economy  of  Home. 

aesthetic  nature  are  as  properly  the  objects  of  the  econom- 
ical faculty  as  dollars  and  cents. 

t  children  be  taught  to  believe  that  good  books  are 
among  the  most  desirable  of  earthly  possessions. 
Let  them  begin  to  accumulate  books  even  before  they  can 
read.  It  would  be  infinitely  better  than  to  give  them  a 
little  bank  and  teach  them  that  the  accumulation  of  cop- 
pers is  all  that  is  desirable.  They  may  be  allowed  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  the  accumulation  of  good  books  and 
works  of  art,  and,  when  they  become  old  enough  to  appre- 
ciate them,  they  will,  perhaps,  have  a  respectable  library. 
They  will  also  have  what  is  far  better,  a  true  idea  of  life 
and  its  significance. 

If  all  parents  would  follow  this  course  with  their  chil- 
dren, the  world's  mad  scramble  for  money  would  be  trans- 
ferred to  books,  facts,  principles,  thoughts,  beauty,  art, 
education,  culture,  righteousness,  and  all  that  can  lift  the 
soul,  and  bring  the  spirit  and  genius  of  humanity  nearer  to 
its  God. 

In  all  cases  the  children  should  be  made  to  earn 
these  books  with  their  own  hands,  that  they  may  early 
learn  that  labor  is  the  price  of  thought  as  well  as  of  bread. 
They  cannot  too  early  be  taught  that  labor  is  necessarily 
the  price  of  all  honest  possessions. 

"  Thus  is  it  over  all  the  earth, 

That  which  we  call  the  fairest, 
And  prize  for  its  surpassing  worth, 
Is  always  rarest. 
351 


Economy  of  Home. 

"  Iron  is  heaped  in  mountain  piles 
And  gluts  the  laggard  forges, 
But  gold-Hakes  gleam  in  dim  denies 
And  lonely  gorges. 

"  The  snowy  marble  flecks  the  land 

With  heaped  and  rounded  ledges, 
But  diamonds  hide  within  the  sand 
Their  starry  edges. 

"  The  finny  armies  clog  the  twine 

That  sweeps  the  lazy  river, 
But  pearls  come  singly  from  the  brine 
With  the  pale  diver. 

"  God  gives  no  value  unto  men 

Unmatched  by  meed  of  labor  ; 
And  cost  of  worth  has  ever  been 
The  closest  neighbor. 


"  Were  every  hill  a  precious  mine, 
And  golden  all  the  mountains  ; 
Were  all  the  rivers  fed  with  wine 
By  tireless  fountains ; 

"  Life  would  be  ravished  of  its  zest, 

And  shorn  of  its  ambition, 
And  sink  into  the  dreamless  rest 
Of  inanition. 

"  Up  the  broad  stairs  that  value  rears, 

Stand  motives  beck 'ning  earth  ward, 
To  summon  men  to  nobler  spheres, 
And  lead  them  worthward." 


352 


CHAPTER  THIRTY. 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 


rFLNESS  should  be  the  aim  of  every  life.  God 
made  us  dependent  upon  one  another  that 
this  great  quality  might  be  developed.  We 
are  born  into  the  world  in  an  absolutely  helpless  state  and 
remain  so  for  years.  This  condition  brings  about  two 
results.  The  -love  of  the  parent  is  developed,  and  the 
plastic  life  of  the  child  is  put  into  these  experienced  hands 
that  its  character  may  be  formed.  The  life  of  the  man 
will  be  largely  determined  by  the  results  of  this  early 
training. 

The  organization  of  the  nervous  system,  including  the 
brain,  might  be  compared  to  the  laying  of  the  great  tele- 
graph lines.  No  message  can  be  sent  where  there  is  no 
line.  This  training  is  the  laying  of  the  lines. 

It  may  be  called  habit  formation.  The  parents  are  the 
responsible  parties.  The  home  is  the  workshop.  The  child 
is  the  subject. 

The  three  conditions  of  health,  strength,  and  endur- 
ance are  to  the  successful  life  what  sunshine  and  rain  are 

353 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

to  the  plant  life.  The  absence  of  any  one  of  these  throws 
a  shadow  over  every  hope.  The  presence  of  all  gives  vigor 
to  every  purpose. 

No  one  factor  enters  so  largely  into  the  health  of  the 
individual  as  proper  home  conditions.  The  introduction 
of  poison  into  the  system  stops  growth,  greatly  interferes 
with  all  the  nutritive  processes,  reduces  vitality,  induces 
disease,  and  produces  premature  death.  Large  quantities 
of  waste  products  are  thrown  off  from  the  body  constantly. 
The  reason  for  this  is  that  they  are  of  no  further  use.  If 
they  should  be  retained,  they  would  prove  to  be  extremely 
poisonous.  Every  one  knows  this  fact,  but  we  fail  to  real- 
ize that  many  of  these  products  can  be  re-admitted  to  the 
body. 

We  hear  so  much  latterly  about  disinfectants.  One  of 
the  best  in  the  world,  for  many  purposes,  is  God's  fresh  air. 
We  have  great  quantities  of  it,  and  this  alone  might  be 
considered  as  a  suggestion  that  we  use  it  freely.  But 
many  people  are  afraid  of  it,  and  will  use  every  means  at 
hand  to  keep  it  out  of  the  house.  In  so  doing  they  breathe 
over  and  over  again  the  same  air.  This  air  contains  waste 
products  already  mentioned,  odors  and  organic  matter 
from  cooking,  gases  from  stoves  and  furnaces,  and  dust, 
including  all  germ  life  living  in  such  media. 

The  introduction  of  good  fresh  air  would  destroy  the 
waste  matter,  drive  out  the  odors  and  gases,  and  largely 
render  harmless  even  the  germs  present. 

354 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

As  to  methods  of  introducing  fresh  air,  anyone  who 
will  give  it  a  little  thought  and  is  willing  to  experiment, 
too,  can  soon  arrive  at  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  Draughts 
can  be  easily  avoided,  and  yet  the  air  caused  to  circulate. 

Sleeping  Rooms. 

Many  think  that  if  the  rooms  are  cold,  the  air  is  pure. 
Not  so.  Temperature  has  no  affect  whatever.  Cold  air  is 
no  purer  than  warm  air. 

We  occupy  our  sleeping  rooms  more  than  any  other 
part  of  the  house.  There  is  the  least  opportunity  for  a 
circulation  of  air,  because  the  occupants  are  not  moving 
about  and  opening  and  closing  doors.  Usually  these 
rooms  are  the  smallest  in  the  house.  Contamination  is, 
therefore,  very  likely  to  occur.  The  body  is  relaxed, 
hence  more  sensitive  to  the  results  of  these  poisons.  That 
"  tired  feeling"  in  the  morning  is  the  result.  We  conclude 
at  once  that  the  blood  needs  toning  up,  when  the  fact  is  the 
blood  needs  the  oxygen  of  good  fresh  air.  But  now  let  us 
enter  the 

Spare  Room 

and  note  its  condition.  Possibly  a  friend  is  to  be  enter- 
tained over  night.  This  is  not  a  usual  occurrence,  but  the 
bed  is  always  in  readiness.  Even  the  linen  is  spread,  and 
has  been  since  house  cleaning  time.  The  room  has  been 
carefully  kept  closed,  so  no  unnecessary  dust  could  accu- 
mulate. We  open  the  door  to  enter,  and  are  first  met  by 

355 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

a  stale  odor.  It  suggests  mold,  dampness,  and  a  badly 
vitiated  air.  But  you  ask  why  ?  No  one  has  slept  here 
for  months.  It  has  been  kept  closed  so  that  it  might  be 
ready  and  fit  for  our  visitor. 

Air  becomes  stale  as  readily  as  bread.  It  must  be  kept 
moving.  When  inclosed  in  a  tight  space,  all  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  space  are  liable  to  changes.  Moisture  collects, 
mold  appears,  iron  rusts,  and  the  air  becomes  ladened  with 
unhealthful  products. 

We  open  the  bed,  and  the  odor  is  much  more  evident. 
The  linen  seems  almost  damp,  is  very  cold  in  winter,  and 
is  not  in  any  condition  for  use.  Why  ?  Because  fresh  air 
has  not  been  permitted  to  come  into  contact  with  every 
part.  That  room  should  either  be  kept  open,  or  thoroughly 
ventilated  at  least,  even  before  a  fire  is  made,  for  fresh  air 
is  much  more  easily  warmed  than  stale  air.  The  bed 
should  never  be  made  till  it  is  to  be  used.  We  thus  avoid 
the  conditions  which  will  make  the  night  very  uncomfort- 
able, and  endanger  the  health  of  our  guest  as  well. 

But  while  we  are  thinking  of  these  rooms  where  we 
spend  our  time,  and  which  are  so  closely  related  to  health 
and  vitality,  let  us  consider  the  question  of  dust. 

This  is  a  source  of  great  annoyance  to  every  house- 
keeper, but  whoever  thought  that  it  was  related  to  health  ? 
Everybody  has  been  anxious  to  keep  free  from  it,  but  not 
because  it  was  deleterious.  But  it  is  remarkable  how  it 
collects.  Our  method  of  carpeting  the  floors  so  they  can 

356 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

be  cleaned  but  once  a  year  is  one  cause.  A  good  sweeping 
once  a  week  removes  a  small  amount  of  the  heaviest  dust, 
but  most  of  it  is  forced  into  the  meshes  of  the  carpet  to 
remain  for  a  time,  or  pass  through  to  the  floor  beneath,  or 
is  brushed  into  the  air.  Allow  a  sunbeam  to  pass  into  the 
room,  and  notice  the  millions  of  small  particles  floating  in 
the  air.  That  sunbeam  would  not  be  visible  were  it  not 
for  the  dust.  Walk  across  the  floor  and  notice  how  the 
amount  increases.  Rugs  are  much  preferable  to  carpets, 
for  the  minimum  amount  of  dust  is  allowed  to  collect.  But 
what  is  dust  ?  Go  out  into  the  street,  pick  up  a  handful, 
look  at  it,  and  think.  Where  did  it  come  from  ? 

Of  course  from  the  soil,  sand,  etc.  But  it  is  the  etc. 
that  is  of  special  interest.  To  this  pulverized  earth  is 
added  much  vegetable  matter,  mostly  decomposed  ;  much 
animal  matter  of  various  kinds,  waste  products  from  the 
various  and  many  animals  passing  by  ;  and  disease  germs 
of  different  forms,  thrown  off  by  man  and  beast.  Added 
to  these  are  the  millions  of  germs  of  different  kinds  usually 
inhabiting  the  air,  and  which  have  been  washed  down  by 
rain,  or  have  died  from  natural  causes.  All  these  things 
have  accumulated,  and  have  been  ground  into  a  fine 
powder,  and  when  the  wind  blows  they  are  hurled  in 
every  direction.  Besides  they  are  carried  into  the  house 
on  clothing  and  shoes.  This  cannot  be  avoided,  but  we 
can  resist  its  collection  in  large  quantities. 

This  explains  why  moths  can  live  in  carpets.  It  is  also 

357 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

to  be  noted  that  they  inhabit  soiled  clothing,  and  never 
that  which  is  clean.  Carpets  free  from  dust  will  not  sup- 
port such  undesirable  creatures. 

The  Kitchen. 

It  is  not  unusual  to  read  advertisements  offering  to 
sell  some  "cockroach  exterminator"  or  "water  bug 
destroyer."  But  know  thou,  that  for  the  sustenance  of 
all  these  creatures  dirt  is  necessary.  Keep  every  nook 
and  corner  clean  and  dry,  and  these  pesky  creatures  will 
never  appear.  If  you  are  bothered  with  them  now,  clean 
up  your  kitchen  and  keep  it  clean,  and  they  must  die. 
Their  presence  is  not  necessary  to  health,  in  fact  they  may 
transmit  disease  germs  to  food,  with  which  they  come  in 
contact. 

The  Cellar. 

Foul  odors  mainly  originate  in  the  cellar.  Soil  air  is 
produced  very  largely  by  decomposing  matter  in  the 
ground.  Sometimes  it  becomes  dangerous  when  the 
ground  is  being  stirred  up,  especially  in  cities. 

When  this  passes  into  the  cellar  it  soon  finds  its  way 
into  every  part  of  the  house.  Every  cellar  should  be 
cemented  to  avoid  this  result,  and  afterwards  kept  scrupu- 
lously clean,  and  well  ventilated. 

But  while  these  things  considered  hygienically  are  of 
great  importance,  their  effect  upon  the  character  of  the 

358 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

members  of  the  household  is  of  fully  as  much  importance. 
As  the  home,  so  the  child. 

Personal  and  Home  Cleanliness. 

A  child  who  is  in  the  habit  of  seeing  dust  and  dirt  in 
the  home,  accompanied  very  probably  with  house  vermin, 
will  not  care  about  his  personal  cleanliness  or  appearance. 

The  skin  is  one  of  the  great  sewerage  systems  of  the 
body.  If  it  is  allowed  to  become  blocked  by  an  accumula- 
tion of  excretory  debris,  lowered  vitality  must  result,  and 
disease  is  much  more  liable.  The  problem  is  not  simply 
one  of  comfort,  but  of  health. 

But  there  is  also  an  ethical  reason  ;  we  must  associate 
with  each  other,  and  for  this  reason  are  under  obligations 
to  keep  clean.  We  usually  wash  our  faces  and  hands  sev- 
eral times  a  day.  Other  parts  are  much  more  liable  to 
defilement,  and  should  receive  proper  care. 

Dietetics. 

We  cannot  discuss  the  question  of  foods  here.  There 
is  no  end  to  variety.  No  two  health  or  food  authorities 
agree.  What  one  prominent  man  declares  the  best, 
another  pronounces  unfit  to  eat. 

Good  advice  recommends  you  to  eat  what  agrees 
with  you,  and  absolutely  refrain  from  eating  that  which 
disagrees  with  you  in  any  manner.  But  some  things  stim- 
ulate you,  and  others  nourish  you.  You  must  have  the 
latter,  the  former  may  cause  trouble.  Stimulants  will  ena- 

359 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

ble  you  to  work  when  you  are  tired,  but  rest  is  the  much 
wiser  remedy. 

A  prominent  dentist  lately  said  that  the  cause  of  such 
poor  teeth  to-day  is  lack  of  use.  Many  of  our  foods  are 
soft  and  do  not  need  chewing,  and  those  needing  mastica- 
tion are  swallowed  whole.  Teeth  are  not  to  look  at,  or  the 
salivary  glands  to  play  with.  Eat  your  food,  take  time  to 
prepare  it  for 'the  digestive  organs,  and  many  of  the  so- 
called  difficult-of-digestion  foods  can  be  readily  assimilated, 
and  a  much  smaller  quantity  of  water,  milk,  tea,  coffee, 
and  cocoa  will  be  necessary  at  the  meal.  But  food  cannot 
make  the  body  strong  ;  God  has  implanted  in  every  being 
the  love  of  activity.  The  babe  kicks,  strikes,  cries,  and 
laughs.  The  boy  or  girl  runs,  plays,  screams,  fights,  and 
engages  in  many  other  activities.  To  limit  this  sponta- 
neous activity  changes  the  child  into  old  age 

For  the  adult,  the  promised  harvest  is  held  out  as  an 
inducement  for,  and  the  ever  present  demand  impresses  us 
with  the  necessity  of,  activity.  We  are  daily  reminded  of 
the  fact  that  bread  and  sweat  bear  a  close  relation  to  each 
other.  It  is  fortunate  that  it  has  been  so  arranged,  for  we 
gain  physical  life  while  we  are  striving  to  gain  food,  and 
it  cannot  be  obtained  in  any  other  way.  A  strong  man  is 
one  who  works,  but  who  does  not  overwork. 

I  have  been  asked  what  I  would  advise  in  the  way  of 
cosmetics  and  lotions. 

The  individual  who  lives  a  hygienic  life  as  described  in 

360 


Home  Hygiene  and  Sanitation. 

these  pages,  will  not  need  cosmetics.  If,  however,  for  any 
reason  they  seem  to  be  indicated,  he  had  better  advise  with 
his  family  physician  and  endeavor  to  remove  the  cause  of 
the  difficulty,  instead  of  trying  to  apply  a  patch.  But  why 
should  so  much  time  be  spent,  so  much  effort  be  given,  so 
much  be  written,  concerning  the  physical  self  ?  Threescore 
years  and  ten  soon  pass,  and  then  we  fly  away.  That  is 
the  very  reason.  This  higher  self  is  the  real  self  —  the 
abiding  self.  This  real  character  is  the  result  of  the  life 
lived  in  the  body.  It  receives  all  its  impressions  through 
the  senses.  That  which  I  see,  hear,  taste,  smell,  and  feel 
bears  a  most  intimate  relation  to  my  character.  These 
senses  provide  me  with  all  of  the  material  for  thought. 
"As  he  thinketh  in  his  heart  so  is  he."  My  thoughts  again 
find  expression  through  the  different  members  of  my  body. 
If  these  members  and  these  organs  of  sense  are  abnormal 
because  of  environment,  character,  as  well  as  expression, 
must  suffer. 

I  am  not  my  best  self. 


361 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-ONE. 


Home     Adornments. 


A.N  is  an  aesthetic  being.  The  love  of  beautjr 
constitutes  a  vital  part  of  his  existence.  Not  a 
mere  appendage  ;  not  one  of  the  finishing 
touches  of  his  creation  that  might  have  been  omitted  with- 
out seriously  deranging  the  symmetry  of  the  whole, —  but 
it  constitutes  a  great  motive  power  in  man's  constitution. 
It  is  the  uplifting  element ;  it  is  that  in  us  which  makes  us 
hunger  and  thirst  after  perfection  of  character. 

The  law  of  beauty  is  the  law  of  completeness,  and  that 
law  in  the  soul  gives  the  desire  for  spiritual  completeness 
and  perfection. 

The  law  of  material  beauty  is,  doubtless,  that  by  which 
matter  tends  to  assume  the  form  of  completeness,  which  is 
that  of  the  circle.  The  circle  everywhere  prevails.  Nature 
always  makes  a  perfect  circle  when  she  can  ;  and  when  she 
cannot  she  usually  makes  a  compromise  with  the  opposing 
forces  and  together  they  make  an  ellipse,  or  some  form  of 
the  curve.  The  stars  are  spheres  ;  atoms  are  by  common 
consent  regarded  as  spheres.  The  paths  of  all  the  heavenly 

bodies  are  ellipses.     The  transverse  sections  of  trees  and 

363 


Home  Adornments. 

almost  all  forms  of  vegetables  are  circular.  Most  of  the 
animal  tissues  are  circular,  or  are  made  up  of  circular 
parts. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  the  geometrical  figure  that  we  see 
the  spirit  of  the  circle.  We  see  it  in  the  repetitions  of  his- 
tory, in  the  ceaseless  round  of  the  seasons,  in  the  death 
and  resurrection  of  the  roses,  in  the  successive  pulses  of 
music,  in  colors  that  suggest  their  complements,  in  the  bud 
that  suggests  the  completion  of  the  flower,  in  the  unutter- 
able emotions  that  come  to  us  while  gazing  upon  the 
"  breathing  canvas  and  speaking  marble,"  in  the  soul-lift- 
ing suggestion  of  the  poet's  metaphor,  which  is  always  the 
segment  that  completes  a  circle  of  consistent  thought. 

It  is  our  imagination  that  supplies  these  missing  seg- 
ments, and  accordingly  imagination  and  fancy  are  found  to 
be  essential  faculties  in  the  production  or  appreciation  of 
beauty.  Imagination  is  that  faculty  which  gives  us  a 
desire  to  complete  all  our  mental  operations,  and  thus  give 
to  them  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  circle.  The  law  of 
beauty  is  Nature's  imagination,  which  tends  to  complete  all 
her  operations  and  give  to  everything  a  circular  tendency. 

3INCE,  then,  the  principle  of  beauty  is  so  far-reach- 
ing in  nature,  and  since  it  forms  so  large  and  vital 
a  part  of  man's  nature,  is  not  its  cultivation  of  the  utmost 
importance  ?    We  cannot  do  violence  to  this  part  of  our 
nature   without  violating  the    whole.      To    withhold    the 


Home  Adornments. 

influences  that  tend  to  develop  a  love  of  beauty  is  as  sure 
to  cause  a  one-sided  and  unsymmetrical  growth,  as  to  with- 
hold a  needed  element  of  food.  Beauty  is  one  of  the  ele- 
ments of  the  soul's  food.  The  cultivation  of  beauty  in  the 
soul  requires  no  costly  tutorage.  Beauty's  lessons  may  be 
learned  without  a  teacher.  The  universe  is  one  vast  cab- 
inet open  to  our  inspection.  Every  gate  of  nature  turns 
upon  golden  hinges.  The  sky  each  morning  is  broidered 
by  the  rosy  fingers  of  the  dawn,  and  every  evening  the  sun, 
amid  beauty  that  awes  the  soul  to  silence,  like  a  gallant 
knight  rides  down  the  perilous  cataract  of  molten  gold. 
The  beauty  of  the  clouds,  the  sweet  simplicity  of  nature's 
drab  dress,  is  past  all  description  of  novelist  or  poet.  A 
spirit  may  grow  divine  by  gazing  on  the  clouds,  and  it 
costs  us  nothing*  to  appropriate  this  beauty  except  the 
trouble  of  taking  our  nooning  in  the  open  air.  There  is  a 
flower  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  nature's  domain,  which 
it  costs  us  nothing  to  look  at. 

§UT  it  is  not  alone  in  nature  that  beauty  may  minister 
to  our  souls.     It  is  the  chief  object  of  this  chapter  to 
show,  in  a  general  way,  how  art  may  serve  this  purpose. 
Nature  hangs  no  landscapes  on  our  parlor  walls,  nor 
does  she  set  bouquets  in  our  windows.     She  will  cause  the 
bouquets  to  grow  and  blossom,  however,  if  we  will  but  take 
the  trouble  to  plant  them. 

Flowers  are  the  soul's  best  friends.     There  is  the  breath 

364 


Home  Adornments. 

of  the  angels  on  their  petals.  It  is  needless  to  contend  that 
there  is  no  deep  meaning  in  the  tribute  which  the  universal 
heart  of  man  in  all  ages  has  paid  to  flowers. 

A  flower  garden  is  within  the  reach  of  every  family 
that  has  the  control  of  a  house  ;  for  the  beds  may  be  made 
close  about  the  house,  and  there  are  few  tenements  even  in 
the  denser  parts  of  cities  where  there  is  not  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  land  for  a  flowerbed. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  there  has  been  much  dis- 
cussion concerning  the  wholesomeness  of  house  plants,  it  is 
nevertheless  the  opinion  of  the  most  eminent  scientists 
that  they  are  positively  beneficial  to  health.  Indeed,  to 
suppose  otherwise  would  be  a  violation  of  the  logic  of 
analogy,  for  the  whole  vegetable  kingdom  constantly  con- 
sumes carbonic  acid,  an  invisible  gas  which  is  poisonous  to 
us,  but  which  constitutes  the  food  of  plants.  They  also 
exhale  oxygen,  which  is  the  all-sustaining  element  of  ani- 
mal life,  and  which  in  civilized  homes  is  usually  deficient, 
owing  to  the  lack  of  proper  ventilation.  Thus  house  plants 
in  part  neutralize  the  bad  effects  of  imperfect  ventilation. 
One  of  the  most  striking  provisions  of  nature  is  seen  in 
the  mutual  adaptation  of  plants  and  animals.  Plants  give 
to  us  just  what  we  require,  while  we  give  to  them  just 
what  they  require.  How  admirably  then  are  men  and 
plants  adapted  to  live  together  ! 


365 


Home  Adornments. 

I  HE  beauty  of  art  is  not  alone  for  the  mansion  of 
^  wealth.  Artistic  and  tasteful  adornments  are  the 
products  of  ingenuity  and  not  of  wealth.  Trees  may  be 
planted  about  the  house,  also  vines  and  roses.  Arbors  and 
shady  nooks  may  be  made  to  render  home  attractive,  and 
to  give  an  added  charm  in  after  years  to  its  memories.  It 
is  true  that  "be  it  ever  so  humble  there's  no  place  like 
home,"  but  that  home  would  be  sweeter  and  would  touch  a 
tenderer  chord  in  the  spirit's  harp  if  we  could  look  back  to 
a  cottage  vine-wreathed  and  rose-decked.  There  is  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  beauty  when  it  surrounds  our  early 
home  that  never  loses  its  power  and  never  ceases  to  exert 
a  molding  influence  over  us. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  tasteful  and  pleasing  devices  by 
which  an  intelligent  wife  or  daughter  may  adorn  a  home, 
and  that  with  little  expense  beyond  the  time  it  requires, 
and  this  is  usually  mere  pastime.  The  plot  about  the 
house  may  be  either  a  sand  desert  covered  with  barrel 
hoops,  broken  cart  wheels,  and  decaying  rubbish,  or  it  may 
be  clean,  wholesome,  and  beautiful.  One  cannot  live  in  a 
wretched  hovel  where  there  is  no  beauty,  where  the  lawn 
suggests  a  lumber  yard,  a  cattle  yard,  and  a  slaughter 
yard  combined,  without  sharing  in  the  degradation  of  the 
surroundings. 


366 


Home  Adornments. 

|T  is  as  much  the  duty  of  parents,  then,  to  adorn  and 
beautify  their  home  as  it  is  to  keep  the  moral  atmos- 
phere of  that  home  pure. 

Indeed,  the  latter  cannot  exist  without  the  former. 
The  best  characters  and  the  noblest  men  come  from  the 
modest  homes  which  taste,  refinement,  and  labor  have 
adorned  and  beautified. 

Beauty  is  a  positive  force,  a  developing  potency  in  the 
universe.  The  language  of  beauty  everywhere  is  the  lan- 
guage of  aspiration.  If  our  dull  ears  could  be  quickened 
till  we  could  hear  and  understand  the  divine  dialect  of  the 
opening  flowers,  we  should  hear  them  say: 

"All  things  have  their  mission,  and  God  gives  us  ours, 
And  this  is  a  part  of  the  mission  of  flowers  : 
To  give  life  to  the  weary  and  hope  to  the  sad, 
Fresh  faith  to  the  faithless,  new  joys  to  the  glad ; 
To  cheer  the  desponding,  give  strength  to  the  weak  ; 
To  bring  health's  bright  bloom  to  the  invalid's  cheek  ; 
To  blush  on  the  brow  of  the  beautiful  bride  ; 
To  cheer  homes  of  mourning  where  sorrows  betide  ; 
To  rob  dreaded  death  of  a  part  of  his  gloom, 
By  decking  the  dear  one  arrayed  for  the  tomb  ; 
To  furnish  the  home  with  a  lasting  delight, 
With  our  perfumes  so  lovely,  our  blossoms  so  bright ; 
To  hallow  the  homestead,  embellish  the  lawn, 
Reflecting  the  tints  of  the  roseate  dawn." 


367 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-TWO. 

Dignity   at  Home. 

IGNITY  is  self-respect,  or  rather  the  manifesta- 
tion of  self-respect.     It  is  the  involuntary  and 

unconscious  expression  of  one's  appraisal  of  him- 
self. Hence  dignity  may  be  called  a  secondary  or  depend- 
ent virtue.  It  is  not  in  itself  a  cardinal  virtue,  but  the 
language  of  one.  Politeness  is  not  absolutely  necessary 
to  a  noble  character,  but  that  virtue  of  which  politeness 
is  the  expression  is  one  of  the  grandest  in  the  world.  It 
is  that  of  benevolence. 

In  exhorting  one  to  be  polite,  it  is  more  philosophical 
to  exhort  him  to  cultivate  the  Christian  grace  of  benevo- 
lence than  merely  to  study  etiquette.  So  with  dignity. 
There  is  no  use  in  studying  the  postures,  gestures,  and 
bearing  of  dignity,  if  there  be  not  behind  it  the  true  source 
of  dignity,  self-respect.  It  is  dishonest  to  appear  to  be 
what  we  are  not ;  and  if  we  have  not  the  true  spirit 
of  dignity,  it  is  better  for  us  to  appear  undignified.  Then 
the  world  will  know  better  how  to  measure  our  worth. 
Artificial  dignity  and  artificial  politeness  are  to  be  con- 
demned as  dishonest  and  hypocritical.  Let  young  men 

308 


Dignity  at  Home. 

and  women  be  dignified,  but  let  it  be  a  true  expression  of 
their  self-respect.  Self-confidence  is  a  trait  of  character 
whose  worth  is  usually  underestimated,  especially  in  the 
young.  At  some  stage  of  their  mental  growth,  young  men 
are  almost  always  considered  conceited  ;  but  in  the  major- 
ity of  cases  the  conduct  that  gives  rise  to  this  belief 
originates  in  other  sentiments  than  that  of  self-esteem. 
Most  people  have  this  element  of  their  characters  too  fee- 
bly developed.  The  more  self-esteem  one  possesses,  if  he 
be  not  haughty  and  overbearing,  the  better.  This  func- 
tion of  the  mind  gives  us  noble  thoughts,  and  makes  us 
hate  anything  that  is  low  or  mean.  It  makes  the  possessor 
feel  that  he  is  better  than  any  mean  act ;  hence  it  is  one 
of  the  strongest  fortifications  of  virtue. 

I  HE  dignified  man  always  receives  more  respect  than 
V  the  undignified.  Society  is  inclined  to  take  a  man 
at  his  own  appraisal.  The  world,  while  it  may  question  a 
man's  claims  to  its  homage,  always  believes  all  the  accu- 
sations which  he  brings  against  himself,  and  if  a  man  by 
his  downcast  head,  his  low  and  mean  associates,  his  vulgar 
thoughts  and  profane  words,  in  short,  by  his  lack  of 
dignity,  proclaims  to  the  world  that  he  is  unworthy  of  its 
esteem,  it  will  surely  take  him  at  his  word. 

To  the  dignified  man  everything  that  ho  does  becomes 
dignified.     If  he   is  a  wood-chopper,  then  wood-chopping 

becomes    as    dignified    and    honorable    as    statesmanship. 

369 


Dignity  at  Home. 

Wherever  the  dignified  man  or  woman  goes,  there  goes 
before  a  sense  of  honor  and  respect.  He  seems  to  be  a 
kind  of  balance  wheel  to  the  society  in  which  he  moves. 
The  laugh  is  never  too  long  or  loud  ;  mirth  and  hilarity 
never  go  too  far  when  he  is  present.  At  the  same  time  he 
is  not  a  burden  or  a  painful  restraint  upon  the  natural  flow 
of  sentiment  and  the  play  of  social  forces. 

NATIONS  and  individuals  usually  attain  a  height  cor- 
responding to  their  own  ideals.  The  beautiful, 
ideal  life  of  the  Greek  was  the  necessary  prelude  to  the 
glorious  reality,  and  those  individuals  who  have  climbed 
the  rugged  heights  and  poised  themselves  on  glory's  sum- 
mit, have  been  those  who,  with  bleeding  feet,  calloused 
hands,  and  toiling  brains,  have  worked  out  a  cherished 
ideal.  The  dignity  of  a  being  measures  the  worth  of  his 
life's  ideal.  So  that,  other  things  being  equal,  he  who  is 
most  dignified  is  most  rapidly  advancing  along  the  path  of 
his  own  possibilities. 

These  facts  are  as  applicable  to  the  little  world  of 
home  as  to  the  great  world  of  human  society.  The  boy 
who  is  dignified  at  home  receives  the  confidence  of  his 
sisters,  brothers,  and  parents.  Just  as  the  world  takes  the 
man  at  his  own  price,  and  grants  its  confidence  only  as  his 
dignity  shows  him  worthy  of  it,  so  the  parent  takes  the 
child  at  his  own  price.  In  proportion  as  children  are  dig- 
nified will  parents  grant  them  liberties,  and  place  them  in 

370 


l)i(jnitij  at  Home. 

positions  of  honor  and  trust  in  the  family  economy.  The 
dignified  girl  need  not  be  a  premature  woman.  She  may 
romp  and  play  with  her  brothers,  as  she  should  do,  and 
still  be  dignified.  Dignity,  as  we  have  intimated,  does  not 
consist  of  outward  acts  ;  it  has  no  necessary  ritual ;  it  is 
not  "studied  gestures  or  well-practiced  smiles." 

The  father  who  gets  down  on  the  floor  to  please  his 
little  child  is  not  undignified.  The  mother  who  joins  in 
the  happy  sports  of  her  children,  even  with  all  the  mirth 
and  merriment  of  her  early  girlhood,  is  not  undignified  so 
long  as  she  has  a  noble  purpose  in  life,  and  sees  a  grand 
object  in  being. 

Indeed,  we  believe  that  those  who  walk  with  measured 
step,  and  whose  faces  suggest  a  lengthened  cloud,  are  not 
the  finest  embodiments  of  true  dignity.  Everything  which 
is  counterfeit  betrays  its  spuriousness,  whatever  may  be 
the  skill  of  the  counterfeiter.  The  sly,  giggling,  and  sim- 
pering false  modesty  need  never  be  mistaken  for  the  open 
frankness  and  fearlessness  of  true  modesty.  So  there  is 
always  something  about  the  bearing  of  a  false  dignity  that 
betrays  it.  It  is  false  dignity  that  cannot  afford  to  smile, 
but  true  dignity  can  afford  to  be  light  hearted.  We  find 
it  enthroned  upon  the  mother's  brow  as  she  shakes  the 
rattle,  and  smiles  and  creeps  upon  the  floor  to  please  her 
baby.  But  how  grandly,  when  suddenly  called  upon  to 
perform  a  higher  duty,  does  she  step  out  of  the  enchanted 
atmosphere  of  her  baby's  life,  unwreathe  the  nursery  smiles 

371 


Dignity  at  Home. 

from  her  face,  and  stand  forth  in  the  glory  of  her  woman- 
hood. It  is  then  that  she  displays  a  dignity  that  awes  us, 
a  dignity  before  which  the  vile  insulter  slinks  back  like 
the  hyena  at  the  gaze  of  day. 

This  is  what  we  mean  by  dignity.  It  is  something 
which  the  little  girl  may  cultivate  as  much  as  she  chooses. 
It  will  not  hurt  her.  It  will  not  make  her  prematurely 
old.  It  will  not  cause  her  to  ripen  too  quickly,  like  a 
shriveled  apple,  but  it  will  help  to  develop  her  and  make 
her  a  true  and  noble  woman. 

There  is  always  a  certain  degree  of  reserve  that  accom- 
panies true  dignity,  so  that  its  possessor  is  never  quite 
transparent.  He  may  be,  and  in  fact  must  be,  free,  open, 
and  social,  but  there  is  always  a  reserved  force  of  individ- 
uality. He  may  be  translucent,  but  not  transparent.  And 
there  is  always  a  charm  in  that  which  we  have  almost  but 
not  quite  seen.  Hence  the  mind  of  the  dignified  man  is 
an  inexhaustible  fountain  of  pleasure  to  his  friends.  He 
is  always  courted  and  never  shunned.  The  boy  who  is 
dignified  will  be  a  central  figure  among  his  brothers  and 
sisters  and  schoolmates. 

I  HERE   are   certain    virtues  that  have  corresponding 
V  vices,  resulting  not  from  the  absence  but  from  the 
excess  or  wrong   direction   of  the  virtue.      Dignity  is  one 
of  those  peculiar  virtues,  separated  from  the  vice  of  con- 
ceit only  by  a  thin  veil.     Economy  is  a  virtue  that  all 

373 


Dignity  at  Home. 

boys  and  girls  are  exhorted  to  cultivate,  but  how  thin  is 
the  partition  that  separates  this  virtue  from  the  hateful 
vice  of  penuriousness,  that  vice  which  has  shriveled  the 
soul  of  many  a  miser  like  the  foliage  of  a  girdled  tree. 
Even  the  worship  of  God  may  be  but  a  hair's  breadth 
from  idolatry.  The  flower  of  every  virtue  grows  close 
to  the  precipice  of  a  vice. 

It  is  a  law  without  exception  that  the  lower  the  plane 
the  more  stable  the  virtue,  while  the  higher  the  plane, 
the  more  unstable. 

The  heavenly  gift  of  love  trembles  over  the  abyss  of 
sensuality,  while  the  crowning  sentiment  of  divine  wor- 
ship is  easily  tumbled  from  its  lofty  pedestal  into  the 
mire  of  idolatry. 

Hence  dignity  finds  its  highest  complement  in  the 
fact  that  it  is  separated  by  a  thin  partition  from  the  vice 
of  pride  and  haughtiness.  Let  us  then  cultivate  dignity, 
but  weed  the  flower  with  a  careful  hand. 

"  A  man  of  haughty  spirit  is  daily  adding  to  his  enemies  ; 

He  standeth  as  an  Arab  in  the  desert,  and  the  hands  of  all  men  are 

against  him. 

A  man  of  a  base  mind  daily  subtracteth  from  his  friends, 
For  he  holdeth  himself  so  cheaply,  that  others  learn  to  despise  him. 
But  where  the  meekness  of  self-knowledge  veileth  the  front  of  self- 
respect, 

There  look  thou  for  the  man  whom  none  can  know  but  they  will  honor. 
Humility  is  the  softening  shadow  before  the  statue  of  Excellence, 
And  lieth  lowly  on  the  ground,  beloved  and  lovely  as  the  violet." 

373 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-THREE. 

Success    or    Failure 
F^orestiadov^ed    at    Home. 


UCCESS  and  failure  are  relative  terms.  What 
would  be  success  to  one  might  be  failure  to 
another.  Success  is  simply  the  best  possible 
results  under  existing  circumstances. 

He  who  was  born  without  the  use  of  his~  arms  and 
hands,  and  also  without  artistic  ability,  and  yet  who,  by 
patient  effort,  has  learned  to  write  with  his  toes,  even 
though  his  writing  be  but  a  miserable  scrawl,  if  it  be  legi- 
ble, has  surely  achieved  a  wonderful  success  in  the  art  of 
penmanship.  But  for  him  who  possesses  the  free  use  of  his 
hands,  and  has  in  addition  the  taste  of  an  artist,  such  a 
result  would  certainly  be  but  moderate  success. 

The  pious  rural  maiden,  who  spends  her  life  in  minis- 
tering to  the  sick,  the  poor,  and  the  ignorant  in  her  little 
neighborhood,  even  though  her  name  is  never  heard 
beyond  a  radius  of  ten  miles,  has  achieved  a  success  of 
which  the  record  is  in  heaven,  but  had  she  been  endowed 

with  the  ten  talents  that  God  gave  to  Florence  Nightin- 

374 


Success  or  Failure. 

gale,  she  surely  would  have  shuddered  to  offer  so  meager  a 
return  to  her  master. 


one  asks  himself  the  question,  "Can  I  suc- 
ceed?"  he  must  have  before  his  mind  a  definite 
standard  of  success,  or  his  words  become  meaningless. 
Circumstances  and  native  ability  must  determine  the  scope 
of  the  question.  The  first  stage  in  all  success  is  a  prepara- 
tion for  success,  and  the  number  of  stages  is  limited  only 
by  natural  capacity  and  length  of  life.  He  who  has  pre- 
pared for  success,  even  though  it  has  required  his  lifetime, 
has  succeeded  better  than  he  who  has  passed  over  a  thou- 
sand stages,  but  has  missed  one  stage  that  he  might  have 
passed. 

According  to  this  definition  of  success,  which  is  the 
only  proper  one,  all  may  succeed,  and  failure  is  never 
necessary.  All  can  certainly  do  their  best,  and  the  result 
will  be  success.  Failure,  as  the  word  implies,  is  simply  the 
failure  to  act  according  to  our  highest  possibilities.  The 
world  is  full  of  the  brilliant  failures  of  fortune's  sons  — 
those  who  seemingly  possessed  every  advantage  that  fate 
could  bestow.  On  the  other  hand,  the  poorhouse  has  been 
the  theater  of  many  a  sublime  success. 

He  has  succeeded  well  who  has  met  and  conquered  the 
dark  hosts  of  evil  passions  that  assail  so  many  unfortunate 
souls.  If  he  has  subdued  self,  that  mightiest  enemy  of 
humanity,  he  may  count  his  life  a  grand  success,  even 

375 


Success  or  Failure. 

though  the  victory  came  but  with  the  death  angel's  rein- 
forcement. Success  is  his  if  he  can  greet  his  stern  ally 
thus  : 

' '  Were  the  whole  world  to  come  before  me  now,  — 
Wealth  with  its  treasures  ;  pleasure  with  its  cup  ; 
Power  robed  in  purple  ;  beauty  in  its  pride  ; 
And  with  love's  sweetest  blossoms  garlanded; 
Fame  with  its  bays,  and  glory  with  its  crown,  — 
To  tempt  me  lifeward,  T  would  turn  away, 
And  stretch  my  hands  with  utter  eagerness 
Toward  the  pale  angel  waiting  for  me  now, 
And  give  myself  to  him,  to  be  led  out 
Serenely  singing  to  the  land  of  shade." 

We  are  glad,  however,  that  the  world  contains  but  few 
who  must  buy  success  at  such  an  awful  price. 

Success  or  failure  is  the  natural  fruit  of  character. 
The  apple  tree  cannot  bear  anything  but  apples,  neither 
can  a  good  character  bear  anything  but  success.  Failure 
is  the  only  fruit  we  can  reasonably  expect  to  reap  from  a 
bad  character. 

But  some  may  object  to  this,  and  point  us  to  the  fre- 
quent and  brilliant  success  of  bad  men  ;  but  what  they 
would  call  success  would  probably  not  fall  within  our  defi- 
nition. If  dishonest  acquisition  is  success,  then  is  the 
highway  robber  the  most  successful  of  men  ;  and  on  that 
roll  of  honor  the  brute-hearted  pirate  must  be. allowed  to 
write  his  name.  Hence  the  word  success  loses  all  signifi- 
cance unless  we  restrict  it  at  least  to  honest  acquisition. 

376 


Success  or  Failure. 

This  must  be  done  even  by  those  who  claim  that  dollars 
and  cents  are  its  only  standard.  Yes,  it  is  character  that 
determines  our  success  or  failure.  Our  deeds,  both  the 
good  and  the  bad,  are  the  visible  herd  which  the  unseen 
shepherd,  character,  drives  across  the  field  of  our  lives. 
If  he  be  a  good  shepherd,  the  herd  also  will  be  good,  and, 
fearless  of  the  prowling  wolf,  will  move  in  orderly  proces- 
sion straight  to  the  fold  of  success  ;  but  if  he  is  a  bad  shep- 
herd, the  flock  will  not  obey  him,  but  will  scatter  in  wild 
confusion,  and  hide  themselves  in  the  dark  and  cheerless 
caves  of  failure. 

3  INGE,  then,  it  is  our  character  that  brings  us  suc- 
cess or  failure,  we  must  go  where  characters  are 
formed,  to  the  home,  in  order  to  speak  our  words  of  warn- 
ing and  advice. 

The  chief  cause  of  all  failures  is  a  lack  of  persistency. 
He  who  begins  life  as  a  fruit  vender,  with  nothing  but  a 
persistent  mind,  has  a  better  chance  of  success  in  life,  than 
he  who  begins  with  a  million  dollars  and  a  vacillating 
mind. 

In  the  New  World,  financial  success  is  possible  to 
every  young  man  of  ordinary  ability.  It  is  certainly 
important  that  he  should  choose  the  vocation  for  which 
nature  has  best  fitted  him,  but  it  is  far  more  important 
that  he  persist  in  the  one  which  he  does  choose. 

There  are  certain  excesses  and  deficiencies  which 

377 


Success  or  Failure. 

amount  to  national  peculiarities.  Lack  of  persistency  is 
surely  a  deficiency  in  Americans,  while  with  the  Germans 
the  reverse  is  true  ;  thoroughness  with  them  is  almost  an 
excess.  Failures  are  very  rare  in  Germany,  because  every 
man  is  so  thoroughly  taught  in  his  one  special  subject  that 
he  has  the  advantage  both  of  a  perfect  knowledge  of  his 
business,  and  a  natural  tendency  to  be  contented  for  life 
with  one  occupation. 

By  failures  we  do  not  mean  what  is  generally  called  a 
"  financial  failure."  But  rather  the  failure  to  do  justice  to 
one's  native  powers,  failure  to  attain  to  what  most  men 
regard  as  success.  Perhaps  there  are  more  failures  of  this 
kind  among  Americans,  in  proportion  to  the  population, 
than  among  any  other  people  in  the  world,  and  the  fact 
accords  well  with  their  known  fickleness.  In  a  somewhat 
lesser  degree  the  same  is  true  of  Canadians. 

I  HE  young  American  or  Canadian  has  much  difficulty 
V  in  deciding  what  occupation  he  shall  follow.  He  is 
undecided  whether  he  shall  be  a  shoemaker  or  statesman. 
He  generally  thinks  quite  favorably  of  all  the  intermediate 
trades  and  professions.  As  a  rule,  he  tries  as  many  of 
these  as  time  and  circumstances  will  permit.  He  enters  a 
store  as  a  clerk,  and  while  the  novelty  lasts  his  mind  is 
fully  made  up  that  he  will  be  a  merchant,  and  have  a  large 
city  store  ;  but  after  a  time  his  work  becomes  prose  instead 
of  poetry.  His  hasty  decision  was  based  on  no  abiding 

378 


Success  or  Failure. 

relation  between  himself  and  trade.  He  leaves  the  store 
and  obtains  a  position  in  a  bank,  and  immediately  he 
decides  that  he  will  be  a  great  banker.  He  reads  and 
studies  about  the  mysteries  of  Wall  Street.  But  in  a  few 
weeks  or  months  it  occurs  to  him  that  he  didn't  stop  to 
measure  the  distance  between  a  chore  boy  in  a  country 
bank  and  a  great  stock  operator  on  Wall  Street,  so  he 
thinks  he  won't  be  a  banker  or  a  broker,  but  perhaps 
decides  to  be  a  printer,  and  goes  into  a  printing  office  fully 
determined  that  he  has  at  last  found  out  what  nature 
intended  to  do  with  him.  He  is  well  satisfied  for  a  time. 
He  reads  the  life  of  Benjamin  Franklin.  His  ambition  is 
awakened.  He  begins  to  see,  too,  that  the  printer  is  only 
the  servant  of  the  writer.  This  touches  his  pride,  and  he 
conceives  the  idea  of  going  to  college,  and  becoming  a 
great  writer  and  speaker.  So  his  father's  little  farm  is 
mortgaged  and  he  starts  for  college,  carrying  with  him 
that  same  indecision  ;  and  after  four  years  of  aimless 
study  he  comes  home  to  choose  his  life  work,  having  for- 
gotten all  about  his  last  resolution  to  be  a  great  writer.  So 
habituated  has  he  become  to  frequent  change  of  occupa- 
tion, that  it  is  now  absolutely  impossible  for  him  to  be  satis- 
fied in  any  sphere  of  life. 

There  is  no  objection  to  a  mere  change  of  occupation  if 
circumstances  render  it  desirable.  The  evil  is  in  the  men- 
tal condition  that  prompts  a  change.  A  young  man  may 
be  a  clerk,  a  banker,  and  a  printer  if  he  chooses,  and  be  the 

379 


Success  or  Failure. 

better  for  it,  provided  these  occupations  are  used  simply  as 
means  for  the  accomplishment  of  some  definite  and  specific 
purpose.  If  a  boy  chooses  to  be  a  printer,  let  him  be  a 
printer,  and,  if  circumstances  render  it  necessary  or  desira- 
ble that  he  should  for  a  time  engage  in  some  other  occupa- 
tion, let  him  do  it  feeling  that  he  is  simply  for  a  time  work- 
ing out  of  his  element.  It  is  the  mental  change,  the  change 
of  motive  and  desire,  and  not  the  mere  physical  change, 
which  produces  the  best  result. 

NOW,  since  success  and  failure  are  products  of  the 
character,  and  since  character  is  formed  by  the 
influences  of  home,  it  is  easy  to  determine  with  approxi- 
mate certainty  from  an  inspection  of  the  home,  what  are 
the  prospects  of  success  or  failure  in  life. 

Moreover,  one  derives  a  feeling  of  fortunate  relief  from 
the  thought  that  all  evils  which  can  be  foreseen,  and 
which  owe  their  origin  to  human  volition,  can  be  pre- 
vented. 

Children  should  be  taught  the  importance  of  persist- 
ency. It  is  not  necessary  that  they  should  early  choose 
their  vocation ;  yet  it  is  necessary  that,  when  they  do 
choose  it,  they  should  choose  it  for  life.  An  occupation 
once  chosen  should  be  entered  upon  with  a  feeling  that 
there  is  no  other  occupation.  The  ships  should  be  burned 
behind.  So  long  as  there  is  in  the  mind  a  lingering 

thought  that  after  all  some  other  occupation  will  constitute 

380 


Success  or  Failure. 

the  life  work,  failure  is  almost  certain,  for  the  mind  is  not 
concentrated,  and  its  acts  are  like  the  acts  of  those  who  are 
half  in  jest. 

Young  men  who  contemplate  a  profession  are  some- 
times advised  to  learn  some  trade  first,  then,  they  are  told, 
if  they  fail  in  the  profession  they  will  have  something  to 
"fall  back  on."  This  is  a  first-rate  way  to  make  certain 
their  failure  in  the  profession.  If  you  wish  to  insure  the 
defeat  of  an  army  make  elaborate  preparations  for  an  easy 
retreat,  but  if  you  wish  to  make  them  invincible,  tear  up 
the  roads  and  burn  the  bridges  behind  them.  So  if  you 
would  insure  success  in  your  boy's  career  don't  foster  nor 
tolerate  the  feeling  that  it  isn't  absolutely  necessary  that 
he  should  succeed  in  that  particular  trade  or  profession. 

But  what  if  the  man  has  made  a  mistake  ?  Suppose 
he  has  entered  the  medical  profession,  and  then  discovers 
that  he  was  doubtless  intended  for  the  law  ?  In  that  case 
it  is  a  matter  to  be  settled  by  his  own  judgment  and  the 
advice  of  his  friends  whether  he  shall  continue  in  the 
medical  profession  or  change  to  the  law.  If  he  is  young 
and  circumstances  are  favorable,  perhaps  it  would  be 
advisable  to  make  the  change.  It  would  not  as  a  rule  be 
advisable. 

We  have  said  that  it  is  less  important  that  a  young 
man  should  choose  just  the  occupation  for  which  he  is  best 
adapted,  than  that  he  persist  in  the  one  which  he  does 

choose.     There  may  be  exceptions  to  this,  but  it  is  true,  as 

381 


Success  or  Failure. 

a  rule,  from  the  very  fact  that  without  persistency  failure 
is  certain,  even  in  the  occupation  for  which  he  is  best 
adapted.  With  persistency  he  is  sure  of  a  moderate  suc- 
cess at  least,  even  in  the  vocation  to  which  he  is  poorly 
adapted  ;  but  without  this  quality  he  is  sure  of  failure  in 
any  vocation. 

We  would  not  convey  the  impression  that  we  attach 
but  little  importance  to  the  right  choice  of  pursuits.  There 
are  few  things  in  human  life  more  important  than  a  right 
matrimonial  selection,  and  yet  it  is  far  less  important  than 
a  firm  determination  to  live  through  life  peacefully  and 
lovingly  with  the  one  who  has  been  chosen  ;  so  it  is  very 
questionable  whether  one  should  attempt  to  correct  any 
mistake  that  may  have  been  made  in  choosing  his  calling. 

It  is  not  to  be  presumed  that  the  young  man  has  made 
any  mistake  in  the  choice  of  his  occupation.  If  he  has 
been  advised  and  counseled  by  wise  and  cautious  parents, 
there  is  but  little  probability  that  he  has  made  a  wrong 
choice.  Nature  has  so  kindly  and  wisely  blended  our 
tastes  and  talents  that  what  we  desire  to  do  most,  that,  as 
a  rule,  we  can  do  best. 

But  unmingled  success  is  not  always  the  best  thing  for 
a  young  man.  There  are  few  who  would  not  be  spoiled  by 
it.  There  is  hardly  a  great  orator  whose  biography  does 
not  contain  some  story  of  an  early  failure.  He  who  has 
never  failed  is  necessarily  a  weak  man.  Temporary  fail- 
ure is  the  best  cure  for  egotism.  It  reduces  our  standard 

383 


Success  or  Failure. 

of  self-measurement  to  the  denominations  of  the  world's 
system. 

Temporary  failure  sustains  the  same  relation  to  the 
character  that  sorrow  does ;  if  not  administered  in  over- 
doses, it  strengthens  and  develops. 

"  What  most  men  covet,  wealth,  distinction,  power, 
Are  baubles  nothing  worth  ;  they  only  serve 
To  rouse  us  up,  as  children  at  the  school 
Are  roused  up  to  exertion  ;  our  reward 
Is  in  the  race  we  run,  not  in  the  prize. 
Those  few,  to  whom  is  given  what  they  ne'er  earned, 
Having  by  favor  or  inheritance 
The  dangerous  gifts  placed  in  their  hands, 
Know  not,  nor  ever  can,  the  generous  pride 
That  glows  in  him  who  on  himself  relies. 
Entering  the  lists  of  life,  he  speeds  beyond 
Them  all,  and  foremost  in  the  race  succeeds. 
His  joy  is  not  that  he  has  got  his  crown, 
But  that  the  power  to  win  the  crown  is  his." 


383 


CHAPTER  TI  [1RTY-FOUR. 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 


ENIUS  has  been  brilliantly  but  imperfectly  defined 
as  an  infinite  capacity  for  taking  pains.  He  who 
lacks  this  capacity  as  a  natural  endowment,  lacks 
the  chief  attribute  of  genius.  It  is  a  divine  birthright  of 
the  few. 

There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  that  more  forcibly  betrays 
the  weakness  and  folly  of  human  nature  than  the  tendency 
in  almost  every  young  man  to  fancy  himself  a  genius,  and 
hence  beyond  the  necessity  of  labor.  The  object  of  this 
chapter  is  to  expose  that  folly,  and  to  show  the  widespread 
misconception  concerning  the  nature  of  genius. 

If  work  costs  you  an  effort,  you  may  be  talented,  but 
you  are  not  a  genius.  From  a  psychological  point  of  view, 
the  essential  elements  of  genius  are  spontaneity  and 
uniqueness.  The  acts,  the  thoughts,  the  creations  of  the 
genius,  arise  out  of  special  mental  environment,  and  the 
special  application  of  intuitive  principles  that  are  potential 
in  the  mind  itself.  The  direction  or  bent  of  genius  is  like- 
wise potential,  and  only  awaits  particular  circumstances, 
which  are  sometimes  incidental,  to  bring  it  into  actuality. 

384 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

Simple  acquirement  without  reference  to  the  quality  of 
the  acquirement  or  its  place  in  the  category  of  mental 
achievement  is  not  genius.  Great  achievements,  although 
they  always  accompany  genius,  do  not  constitute  it,  they 
only  indicate  it,  they  are  the  natural  language,  the  gest- 
ures, of  genius. 

We  are  told  that  intense  application  and  concentration 
of  effort  and  purpose  will  accomplish  the  results  of  genius. 
And  why  should  they  not,  for  they  are  genius  itself.  It  is 
wonderful  that  men  who  are  so  remarkable  for  common 
sense  in  the  everyday  affairs  of  life  should  show  to  such 
poor  advantage  when  they  attempt  to  elucidate  the  princi- 
ples of  mental  science  and  human  nature. 

There  are  no  subjects  on  which  the  popular  writers 
become  so  hopelessly  confused  as  on  those  pertaining  to 
psychology.  Let  it  be  understood  once  and  forever  by  the 
world,  that  there  can  be  no  act  of  being  that  is  not  the  out- 
growth of  an  organic  function,  and  this  pernicious  indefi- 
niteness  which  makes  ludicrous  and  insignificant  distinc- 
tions between  synonymous  words  will  vanish  from  our 
literature.  Concentration  of  purpose  and  intense  applica- 
tion are  as  truly  elements  of  genius  as  the  imagination  of 
the  poet.  From  many  writers  we  should  gather  that  there 
may  be  one  or  two  faculties  essential  to  greatness,  which 
may  be  native  and  individual,  but  that  all  the  other  ele- 
ments, such  as  will,  concentration,  perseverance,  self- 
reliance,  etc.,  etc.,  are  possessed  in  equal  quantities  by  all, 

385 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

and  that  those  who  do  not  use  them  as  extensively  as  the 
greatest  men  are  to  be  censured. 

Now  it  is  as  reasonable  to  censure  a  boy  because  he 
cannot  compose  music  like  Beethoven  as  to  censure  him 
because  he  "does  not  want  to."  The  elements  that  give 
the  desire  are  the  same  that  give  the  ability.  You  may  as 
well  exhort  him  to  write  poetry  like  Shakespeare  as  to 
exhort  him  to  have  the  concentration,  the  perseverance,  or 
the  self-reliance  of  Shakespeare,  for  all  these  qualities  are 
as  much  parts  of  genius,  and  are  just  as  dependent  on 
hereditary  and  organic  influences,  as  those  which  are  rec- 
ognized as  the  prime  factors  of  genius. 

I  ENIUS  has  many  and  unmistakable  characteristics, 
and  among  them  the  earliest,  if  not  the  most  marked, 
is  intellectual  boldness.  The  first  symptom  of  genius  is 
a  scorn  for  the  opinions  of  men.  Genius  sees  through 
the  clouds  that  intercept  the  world's  vision,  and  hence 
the  world  never  sympathizes  with  genius.  Hisses  are  the 
highest  compliment  the  world  can  pay  to  genius.  He  who 
does  not  sometimes  enrage  his  fellow  men  may  well  ques- 
tion his  claim  to  genius. 

This  rule,  however,  applies  with  less  force  in  certain 
spheres  of  genius,  as  music,  painting,  sculpture,  etc.  Yet 
even  here  the  grandest  efforts  have  been  scorned  by  the 
critics,  the  interpreters  of  genius.  But  in  that  highest 
sphere,  in  which  it  roughhews  the  timbers  of  the  world's 

386 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

new  thought,  it  cannot  receive  the  sympathy  of  men. 
"  Loose  unto  us  Barabbas  "  is  the  world's  cry.  It  is  genius 
they  would  crucify,  for  it  is  genius  that  moves  them  to 
wrath.  For  it  reveals  itself  not  in  soft  words  and  "pretty 
thoughts,"  but  in  words  often  discordant  and  thoughts, 
tumultuous  thoughts,  that  burn  into  the  tablet  of  the  cen- 
turies with  a  hiss.  It  is  the  honeyed  words  of  talent  that 
best  please  the  ears  of  mankind. 

Another  distinguishing  characteristic  of  genius  is  that 
it  always  tells  the  world  something  that  it  did  not  know 
before.  Genius  stands  nearest  to  the  source  of  all  wisdom, 
and  catches  whispers  that  never  reach  the  common  ear. 
It  is  God's  interpreter.  It  reveals  and  interprets  the 
unwritten  language  of  nature's  pantomime ;  hence  the 
world,  in  spite  of  its  antipathy  for  genius,  instinctively 
recognizes  its  power.  For  in  all  ages  men  have  made  the 
words  of  genius  canonical.  Homer  was  the  world's  first 
Bible. 

Genius  works  without  regard  to  the  value  of  the  prod- 
uct. It  works,  as  we  have  said,  because  it  cannot  help  it. 
And  herein  seems  to  consist  the  divinity  of  genius,  for  it 
appears  to  be  guided  by  a  divine  influence.  It  forgets  that 
it  is  hungry  and  works  all  night.  Tested  by  the  received 
canons,  it  is  radical  and  fanatical.  It  recognizes  no  beaten 
path,  however  lovely.  It  both  walks  upon  the  earth  and 
flies  in  the  air.  It  knows  that  which  talent  doubts,  and 
believes  that  which  talent  laughs  at. 

387 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

I T  is  not  our  purpose  to  discourage  young  men,  yet  we 
do  not  hesitate  to  do  so,  if  thereby  we  may  dispel  from 
their  minds  the  foolish  fancy  that  they  are  geniuses.  Nor 
need  this  discourage  them.  Every  mind  is  satisfied  with 
its  own  sphere.  Talent  does  not  suffer  from  disappoint- 
ment because  it  cannot  be  genius,  any  more  than  the  child 
suffers  because  it  cannot  be  a  man.  The  child  is  ambitious 
only  to  be  noted  among  his  playmates  as  possessing,  in 
a  remarkable  degree,  the  qualities  of  a  child.  So  talent, 
unless  there  be  a  want  of  harmony  in  the  mental  constitu- 
tion, is  satisfied  with  its  own  sphere,  and  does  not  seek  to 
rise  in  its  aspirations  into  the  cloud  heights  of  genius.  We 
do  not  mean  that  a  person  without  genius  does  not  fre- 
quently wish  that  he  might  occupy  the  highest  place  in 
the  estimation  of  his  fellows.  There  are  few  to  whom  this 
wish  is  a  stranger,  yet  it  causes  no  suffering  and  does  not 
touch  the  question  of  disappointed  aspirations.  In  its  rela- 
tion to  genius  we  have  used  the  word  aspiration  with  its 
strongest  meaning,  that  in  which  it  signifies  not  merely  a 
wish  to  be  great,  but  a  burning,  sleepless  impulse,  which 
suffers  all  things,  forgets  the  weak  pleadings  of  sense, 
and  labors  unceasingly  for  the  accomplishment  of  its 
purpose. 

So  we  are  not  actuated  by  a  malicious  desire  to  dash 
the  cherished  hopes  of  college  boys  who  mistake  that 
indefinite  desire  for  greatness  which  every  one  has  felt, 

for  that  divine  uplifting  which  not  only  seeks  the  goal  of 

888 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

greatness,  but  actually  rejoices  that  the  path  to  glory  is 
so  rough  and  steep.  It  is  a  characteristic  of  genius  that 
it  loves  to  tread  stony  paths,  for  the  sake  of  crushing 
the  stones. 

No  !  no  !  young  man,  don't  wait  any  longer  for  genius 
to  blossom,  for  the  fact  that  you  are  waiting  proves  that 
there  is  no  bud  to  blossom. 

\  A  fs  have  paid  this  exalted  and  possibly  extravagant 
"  ^  tribute  to  genius  solely  for  the  purpose  of  placing 
in  the  hands  of  that  class  of  young  men  who  fancy  them- 
selves geniuses,  a  means  of  detecting  their  own  folly. 
These  young  men  are  proverbially  the  lazy  young  men ; 
they  are  those  who  from  some  strange  cause  have  con- 
ceived the  idea  that  to  work  would  be  to  surrender  their 
claim  to  genius.  Hence  they  abandon  themselves  to  idle- 
ness. They  have  been  told  that  Poe  and  Byron  were  idlers. 
But  if  the  truth  were  known  it  would,  doubtless,  be  found 
that  these  unhappy  geniuses  through  sleepless  nights  of 
wasting  toil  worked  themselves  into  untimely  graves. 

Since  genius  consists  essentially  in  spontaneous  labor, 
in  contradistinction  to  the  irksome  effort  of  mediocrity, 
it  follows  that  these  young  men  are  barred,  at  the  outset, 
from  all  claim  to  genius. 

Probably  more  talented  young  men  have  been  ren- 
dered useless  by  the  delusion  that  genius  is  a  compound  of 
wine  and  laziness  than  by  any  other  one  cause.  Let  no 

389 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

young  man  entertain  the  idea  that  by  getting  drunk  and 
being  lazy  he  can  be  a  Poe. 

In  the  first  place,  Poe  was  not  lazy.  Genius,  it  is 
true,  often  works  somewhat  irregularly,  because  the  mov- 
ing power  in  genius  is  impulse,  whereas  in  talent  it  is  usu- 
ally motives  of  economy  or  duty.  And,  in  the  second  place, 
Poe  would  probably  have  been  a  much  greater  poet  had 
he  been  temperate.  But  there  seems  to  be  in  perverted 
human  nature  a  propensity  to  copy  after  the  incidental 
weakness  of  greatness.  Let  a  man  of  genius  display  one 
trait  of  the  idiot  and  hundreds  of  young  men  will  appro- 
priate it  and  complacently  consider  themselves  possessed 
of  at  least  one  characteristic  of  genius. 

So  long  as  the  young  man  of  talent  can  readily  find  a 
field  for  the  full  exercise  of  his  powers,  and  one  in  which 
the  rewards  of  toil  are  worthy  of  his  highest  effort,  he  need 
not  feel  discouraged  because  he  cannot  be  a  genius.  As 
well  might  he  lament  because  he  was  not  born  into  a  more 
refined  and  beautiful  world  than  this.  So  long  as  he  ful- 
fills the  duties  which  his  talent  imposes,  he  should  be  con- 
tent and  happy  in  his  sphQre,  and  never  stop  to  consider 
whether  he  be  a  genius  or  a  mediocre.  The  semi-idiot,  if 
he  employs  to  the  best  possible  advantage  the  weak  talents 
that  he  possesses,  may  be  morally  as  deserving  of  praise  as 
Plato,  Paul,  or  Newton. 


390 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

IT  is  the  function  of  genius  to  go  in  advance  of  the 
world's  march,  and  "set  the  stakes"  to  guide  the 
advancing  column.  But  one  genius  can  do  this  for  an 
army  of  ten  thousand,  while  the  lieutenants  and  corporals 
of  talent  must  be  scattered  all  along  the  line.  Genius  in 
every  relation  of  life  is  more  or  less  independent  of  experi- 
ence. It  knows  things  without  learning  them.  It  exempli- 
fies the  doctrine  of  "innate  ideas."  Talent  knows  only 
what  it  sees,  but  genius  does  not  see  what  it  knows.  In  its 
loftiest  moods  the  beams  of  truth  flash  into  its  inmost 
chambers,  and  it  cannot  tell  you  whence  comes  the  light. 
It  is  awed  at  its  own  achievements,  and  looks  with  wonder 
upon  its  own  offspring.  It  sees,  as  mere  talent  can  never 
learn  to  see,  the  infinite  significance  of  wholeness. 

But  talent  and  genius  may  and  often  do  exist  together. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  the  one  that  necessarily 
precludes  the  other.  Those  in  whom  they  exist  together 
will  exhibit  that  same  irrepressible  impulse  to  labor,  but 
there  will  be,  in  their  labor,  the  method  and  regularity  and 
moderation  which  characterize  that  of  talent.  The  genius 
of  Caesar,  Napoleon,  or  Shakespeare  would  not  have  pro- 
duced the  grand  results  that  it  did,  had  it  not  been  mixed 
with  talent,  whereby  it  was  tempered  and  made  self-regu- 
lating. Goethe,  perhaps,  furnishes  the  best  illustration  of 
the  combination  of  genius  and  talent. 

We  have  indicated  a  very  sharp  contrast  between 
genius  and  talent,  or  rather  between  the  results  of  genius 

391 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

and  talent.     But  the  question,  what  is  genius,  remains  un- 
answered. 

I  HERE  are  all  degrees  of  genius,   as  there    are  all 

^.  degrees  of  talent,  and  the  line  where  the  highest 
degree  of  talent  meets  the  lowest  degree  of  genius  is  a 
question  that  can  be  determined  only  by  the  arbitration  of 
mankind.  There  is  no  natural  law  by  which  we  can  say 
with  certainty  that  one  mind  is  on  this  side  and  another  on 
the  other  side  of  that  line.  There  are  doubtless  thousands 
far  below  the  line  who  have  passed  for  geniuses,  while 
thousands  more,  as  far  above  the  line,  have  hardly  received 
the  rank  to  which  mediocrity  should  entitle  them.  Yet 
notwithstanding  such  injustice,  resulting  from  weakness 
and  prejudice,  the  fact  of  genius  still  remains.  The  dis- 
tinctions of  kitten  and  cat,  of  cub  and  lion,  of  child  and 
adult,  are  genuine  and  natural  distinctions,  yet  who  shall 
designate  the  moment  when  a  boy  becomes  a  man  ?  This 
moment  cannot  be  ascertained  with  certainty  within  sev- 
eral years.  A  margin  of  at  least  five  years  must  be 
allowed  for  variation  of  opinion  concerning  definitions. 

Genius,  then,  is  but  developed  talent,  and  the  lowest 
degree  of  talent  holds  in  potentiality  the  highest  degree  of 
genius. 

Talent  in  man  corresponds  to  strength  of  material  in 
the  engine,  which  is  approximately  indicated  by  the  figures 

on  the  steam  gauge.     It  is  the  steady  power  of  resistance. 

392 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

I 

But  there  is  another  quality  of  the  engine  of  a  subtiler 
nature.  It  may  be  called  sensitiveness.  This  quality 
depends  not  upon  the  size  and  strength  of  material,  but 
upon  the  "finish"  and  the  nice  adjustment  of  parts, 
whereby  friction  is  diminished.  It  enables  us  to  deter- 
mine the  per  cent,  of  discount  that  must  be  made,  on  the 
indications  of  the  steam  gauge,  in  estimating  the  efficiency 
or  working  power  of  the  engine. 

Now  genius  is  that  in  the  organization  which  corre- 
sponds to  this  quality  in  the  engine.  It  may  be  termed 
organic  quality.  It  is  the  finish  of  the  brain,  and  by  it 
the  mental  powers  are  made  responsive.  It  is  great  just 
in  proportion  to  the  per  cent,  of  organic  power  utilized. 
Hence  spontaneity  is  the  one  word  that  approaches  nearest 
to  a  synonym  of  genius. 

Since  genius  results  from  a  quality  of  the  organism,  we 
see  why  it  often  seems  to  defy  the  organic  law  that  size 
measures  power.  Emerson  is  a  puzzle  to  the  phrenologists, 
even  with  all  the  qualifications  implied  in  their  "  cseteris 
paribus."  This  fact,  however,  is  no  disparagement  to  the 
science.  Even  astronomy,  the  oldest  of  sciences,  must 
recognize  its  insolvable  problems.  It  cannot  trace  the 
comet  through  its  hyperbolic  and  parabolic  orbits.  So 
mental  science  cannot  solve  the  "  mystery  of  genius."  For 
genius  lies  beyond  the  reach  of  science.  It  is  a  comet 
whose  orbit  is  the  infinite  parabola. 

There  are  degrees  of  organic  quality  far  above  that 

393 


Fallacies  About  Genius. 

which  the  phrenologist  marks  "seven,"  and  in  these  rare- 
fied realms  dwells  genius.  Nay,  genius  is  the  reigning 
spirit  of  the  realm  itself. 

It  should  be  a  pleasing  thought  to  the  great  mass  of 
mankind,  that  the  most  glorious  achievements  of  the  race, 
the  aggregate  of  which  constitutes  most  that  we  prize  in 
history,  have  not  been  the  products  of  what  men  term 
genius.  But  talent,  with  toiling  brain  and  sweating  brow, 
has  wrought  the  revolutions  whose  issues  are  the  land- 
marks of  history.  But  this  does  not  debase  the  glorious 
mission  of  genius.  Had  it  not  been  for  genius,  the  great 
problems  that  talent  has  solved  would  never  have  been 
formulated. 

Let  the  young  man,  whether  he  has  talent  or  genius, 
be  content  to  labor  in  his  own  sphere,  and  let  his 
motto  be  : 

"  Seize  this  very  minute, 

What  you  can  do,  or  dream  you  can,  begin  it. 

Boldness  has  genius,  power,  and  magic  in  it. 

Only  engage,  and  then  the  mind  grows  heated,  — 

Begin,  and  then  the  work  will  be  completed." 


394 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-FIVE. 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 


UMAN  life  is  fraught  with  duties.  The  fact  of 
existence  imposes  them  upon  every  one.  There 
^,  is  no  hour  of  our  lives  that  does  not  hold  a 
note  against  us.  Every  moment  is  a  creditor.  Our  lives 
and  what  they  signify  are  so  woven  into  the  web  of  univer- 
sal being  that  there  is  never  a  moment  of  release. 

But  by  far  the  larger  portion  of  life's  duties  lie  along 
the  soul's  path  of  aggressive  movement,  and  require  some- 
thing of  courage  to  meet  them. 

Courage  is  that  quality  of  the  soul  which  makes  it  fear- 
less of  consequences  in  the  presence  of  opposition.  With 
this  definition,  courage  becomes  an  element  in  the  perform- 
ance of  every  duty  of  life,  for  the  human  soul  is  confronted 
by  no  duty  which  is  not  armed.  Every  duty  demands  an 
aggressive  act,  and  hence  courage  —  and  he  who  shrinks 
from  a  duty  is  a  coward.  The  duties  of  life  consist  in  the 
aggregate  of  all  the  acts  toward  which  the  sense  of  right, 
of  honor,  and  of  self-respect  impels  us. 

Life  is  the  arena  of  many  forms  of  courage,  as  many  as 

395 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 

there  are  possible  lines  of  human  action.  There  is  physical 
courage,  which  dares  to  meet  and  overcome  physical  oppo- 
sition. It  is  that  which  makes  us  willing  to  take  the  pos- 
sible consequences  of  the  physical  danger,  in  the  accpm- 
plishment  of  an  effort.  This  form  of  courage  is  by  no 
means  low.  It  is  true  that  it  is  the  form  of  courage  which 
defends  the  cub  of  the  wild  beast,  and  which  belongs  to 
that  department  of  man's  nature  which  he  possesses  in 
common  with  the  brute  creation,  yet  without  it  all  the 
higher  powers  of  man  would  be  helpless  prisoners  hi  the 
hands  of  circumstances. 

We  would  not  exalt  physical  courage  to  that  position 
which  we  would  assign  to  reason,  and  yet  we  must  regard 
it  as  one  of  the  noble  attributes  of  man.  Washington's 
integrity  and  honor  and  patriotism  might  have  existed  in 
vain,  for  without  physical  courage  they  could  never  have 
made  a  nation  grand.  The  early  Christians  might  have 
died  from  the  very  excess  of  their  joy,  but  without  the 
physical  courage  that  scorns  the  flame  there  would  never 
have  been  a  martyr. 

But  there  are  higher  forms  of  courage.  To  be  a  martyr 
one  must  have  something  more  than  the  courage  to  meet 
physical  torture  and  death.  He  must  have  the  courage  to 
think  the  unthought  and  speak  the  unspoken  ;  and  not  only 
to  think  and  speak  thus,  but  to  do  it  amid  the  jeers  of 
hatred  and  the  hisses  of  calumny.  But  for  this  form  of 

courage  no  triumphant  vessel   would   to-day   move   upon 

396 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 

the  waters,  no  engine  would  jar  the  earth  with  its  iron 
tread,  no  magic  wires  would  belt  the  globe  with  zones  of 
love. 

History  would  be  unstained  with  blood,  and  the  sim- 
ple record  would  read  as  sweetly  as  the  story  of  a  maiden's 
life  ;  and  yet  out  of  the  rayless  midnight  of  that  history 
would  rise  no  star.  The  darkness  of  the  past  has  been 
illumed  by  the  fagot  fires  kindled  at  the  feet  of  courage. 
No.  grand  libraries  would  adorn  our  cities,  had  not  moral 
courage  dared  to  pen  its  own  pains. 

Every  heroic  page  of  history  may  be  said  to  have  been 
born  amid  the  death  throes  of  its  author. 

The  steps  of  the  world's  progress  have  been  over  the 
red  altars  of  human  sacrifice. 

Physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  courage  have  been 
the  grand  leaders  in  the  ceaseless  conquest  of  thought. 
God  bless  the  martyrs  to  science  and  religion  !  bless  those 
whose  pale  brows  have  pressed  through  weary  days  and 
lingering  nights  against  the  bars  of  prison  windows, 
unsolaced,  save  in  the  triumphs  of  truth  ! 

I T  is  often  said  that  the   age  of  heroism  is  past,  since, 
as  it  is  claimed,  there  is  no  longer  any    demand  for 
great   displays   of    courage.      The    inventor  is   no  longer 
pointed  at  with  scorn,  nor  accused  of  too  intimate  associa- 
tion with  the  devil. 

The  authors  of  new  thought  are  not  now  doomed  to 

397 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 

starvation.  But  notwithstanding  all  this  there  never  was 
a  period  in  the  history  of  the  world  when  life  demanded 
so  much  of  courage  as  to-day.  The  most  dastardly  form 
of  cowardice  is  that  which  makes  us  afraid  to  be  our- 
selves. 

The  highest  need  of  human  society  to-day  is  a  bold  and 
fearless  spirit  of  individuality.  A  thousand  years  ago  one 
could  be  conservative  and  not  fall  behind  the  race.  But 
now,  while  humanity  rides  on  steam  and  lightning,  one 
cannot  afford  to  imitate  the  clumsy  gait  of  those  who  went 
through  life  on  foot. 

With  the  momentum  of  all  the  formative  ages  behind 
him,  man  is  rushing  with  terrific  speed  toward  the  goal  of 
his  destiny.  He  started  as  a  long  train  starts  from  its  sta- 
tion, with  snail  pace  and  amid  the  tolling  bells  of  dying 
martyrs.  One  did  not  need  then  to  have  a  high  degree 
of  individuality.  He  could  keep  with  the  race  while  he 
remained  almost  at  rest.  There  was  little  demand  then 
for  this  form  of  courage,  for  one  was  much  like  another, 
and  individuality  was  an  attribute  of  the  nation  rather 
than  of  the  man.  Then  the  individual  man  was  a  part  of 
the  mass  with  no  visible  line  of  demarcation  between,  but 
now  he  is  a  detached  fragment,  and  must  maintain  his 
own  identity  and  assert  his  own  individuality  by  a  cease- 
less act  of  courage,  or  be  hurled  as  refuse  into  the  world's 
intellectual  and  moral  sewer. 

No  age  of  human  history  has  offered  such  a  grand 

398 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 

reward  to  courage  as  the  present.  In  politics  and  religion 
we  see  the  disgusting  cowardice  that  makes  men  slaves  to 
base  schemes  and  cunning  tyranny. 

I  HERE    are    few    men   who   dare  to  think  for  them- 

^  selves  ;  they  must  see  what  the  political  paper  or  the 
minister  says  before  they  have  the  courage  to  say  what 
they  believe.  Few  ever  consider  what  a  powerful  factor 
in  life's  programme  is  moral  courage.  Let  the  young  man 
learn  to  think  for  himself.  It  will  give  him  added  power 
and  a  rightful  independence.  From  a  perfunctory  assimi- 
lator  of  other  people's  thoughts,  he  will  soon  acquire  more 
or  less  right  to  be  adjudged  on  his  own  authority.  Not 
only  good  citizenship  but  the  duty  of  self-development 
demands  this  exercise  of  a  special  prerogative.  Each 
courageous  thought  gives  needed  zest  to  independent 
character. 

Originality  is  not  a  peculiarity  of  great  minds.  The 
smallest  minds  may  become  wonderfully  original  simply 
through  courage,  by  daring  to  question  that  which  they 
read  and  hear.  Of  course  the  disagreeable  habit  of  ego- 
tism is  not  to  be  encouraged.  One  should  presume  him- 
self ignorant  of  all  things  and  then  dare  to  question  all 
things. 

Authority  should  not  be  disregarded,  and  yet  it  should 
be  taken  as  affording  merely  a  presumption,  and  not  a 
demonstration.  The  truths  that  fall  within  the  ken  of 

399 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 

human  vision  are  few.  All  truths  cannot  be  seen  even  by 
the  most  gifted.  The  spider  sees  many  things  that  the 
eagle  overlooks.  As  much  depends  upon  the  attitude  of  the 
eye  as  upon  its  power,  and  there  are  little  truths  and  cer- 
tain aspects  of  great  truths  which  must,  from  their  nature, 
be  discerned  by  little  minds  alone.  It  is  cowardice  to 
believe  or  disbelieve  because  Plato  says  so.  The  first 
symptom  of  genius  is  the  bold  daring  with  which  it  dis- 
putes the  fables  of  the  nursery.  We  would  not,  however, 
have  it  understood  by  young  men  that  the  disagreeable 
and  unmannerly  habit  of  disputing  for  the  sake  of  dis- 
puting is  in  any  way  a  symptom  of  greatness. 

We  have  used  the  word  dispute  in  a  broader  sense, 
that  in  which  it  means  to  question  why,  to  weigh  the  prob- 
abilities, to  demand  consistency,  and  to  doubt,  if  need  be. 
The  civilization  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  born  of 
doubts  and  questions,  whose  answers  have  been  hisses. 
Emerson  says:  "Have  courage  not  to  adopt  another's 
courage." 

That  certainly  means  much.  It  means  that  we  should 
stand  upon  our  own  individuality,  and  dare  to  respond  to 
our  own  name  in  the  roll  call  of  life. 

ejRAGE  gives  a  man  a  kind  of  magic   control  over 
everything  in  nature.     It  actually  strengthens  the 
muscles  of  the  body. 

The  courageous  man  can  lift  a  heavier  weight,  other 

400 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 

things  being  equal,  than  the  timid  man  ;  he  can  do  more 
work  in  the  same  time  and  with  less  exhaustion. 

Courage  adds  to  one's  peace  of  mind.  The  timid  man 
is  never  at  peace.  To  him  life's  duties  assume  the  form 
of  living,  malicious  intelligence,  whose  only  desire  seems 
to  be  to  defeat  his  efforts  and  cause  him  pain. 

Fear  weakens  every  fiber  of  our  being,  physical,  in- 
tellectual, and  moral  ;  which,  in  effect,  is  the  same  as 
strengthening  the  obstacles  and  resistances  of  life.  What- 
ever strengthens  the  muscles  virtually  lightens  the  weight. 
Thus  does  courage  give  to  man  a  control  over  inanimate 
nature. 

But  not  alone  over  inanimate  nature,  for  he  who  pos- 
sesses courage  holds  the  wand  that  rules  the  world.  He 
sets  the  world  a  thought-copy  which  it  gladly  follows. 
There  is  something  in  the  glance  of  courage,  born  of  con- 
scious power,  before  which  man  and  beast  alike  quail. 
Under  the  gaze  of  the  wild  beast,  man  is  safe  till  he  loses 
his  courage. 

"  Ah  !  from  your  bosom  banish,  if  you  can, 
Those  fatal  guests  :  and  first  the  demon  fear, 
That  trembles  at  impossible  events  ; 
Lest  aged  Atlas  should  resign  his  load, 
And  heaven's  eternal  battlements  rush  down. 
Is  there  an  evil  worse  than  fear  itself? 
And  what  avails  it  that  indulgent  heaven 
From  mortal  eyes  has  wrapt  the  woes  to  come, 
If  we,  ingenious  to  torment  ourselves. 
401 


Courage  to  Meet  Life's  Duties. 

Grow  pale  at  hideous  fictions  of  our  own  ! 

Enjoy  the  present ;  nor,  with  needless  cares 

Of  what  may  spring  from  blind  misfortune's  womb, 

Appall  the  surest  hour  that  life  bestows. 

Serene,  and  master  of  yourself,  prepare 

For  what  may  come  ;  and  leave  the  rest  to  heaven . ' ' 


402 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-SIX. 

Personal    Responsibility. 


"lt~J\ESPONSIBILITY  is  the  nurse  of  power. 

iy  Nature  is  parsimonious,  however  prodigal  she 
I  ^  \^  ^  may  appear  in  such  matters  as  the  spawning 
of  fish  roe  or  the  fertilization  of  the  queen  bee.  Her  habit 
is  to  withhold  power  till  power  is  very  urgently  demanded, 
and  even  then  to  dole  it  out  with  all  too  niggard  hand.  If 
the  measure  given  is  not  used,  but  timidly  laid  away 
in  a  napkin,  she  soon  and  silently  withdraws  it.  The 
unused  treasure  dwindles  day  by  day.  It  cannot  be 
spared  to  lie  idle.  It  is  wanted  elsewhere  ;  and  it  goes. 

But  when  power  is  in  use,  thither  it  tends  to  flow,  in 
a  volume  more  or  less  grudgingly  apportioned  to  the 
urgency  of  the  need.  The  tree  continually  assailed  by 
winds  puts  forth  the  stronger  anchorage  of  roots  to  grip 
the  soil.  The  faculties  of  man,  physical,  mental,  or  spir- 
itual, grow  keener  and  more  competent  in  proportion  to 
the  demands  made  upon  them  by  circumstance.  This,  of 
course,  is  to  speak  sweepingly  ;  for  on  the  one  hand  the 
stern  economy  of  nature  often  leads  her  to  court  failure 
by  the  insufficiency  of  the  gift ;  and  on  the  other  hand  the 

403 


Personal  Responsibility. 

demand  may  be  made  too  soon,  and  ruin  may  come 
through  unreadiness.  Trial,  demand,  discipline,  these  are 
a  blessing.  But  the  excess  of  a  blessing  is  apt  to  be  the 
worst  of  banes.  Responsibility  too  great  may  crush,  not 
strengthen.  A  sudden  hurricane  may  uproot  the  tree, 
unless  its  roots  have  been  long  settled  in  their  grip  of 
earth  and  rock. 

I  HE  sense  of  responsibility  is  not  instinctive,  but 
^  acquired.  It  is  apt  to  be  acquired  late  and  with 
reluctance,  for  instinct  seeks  to  repel  it.  Long  before  Cain 
the  race  of  man  was  wont  to  ask  angrily  of  its  dawning 
conscience,  "Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ?"  and  to  shut  its 
eyes  resentfully  to  the  growing  idea  of  responsibility  for 
others.  Among  the  higher  animals,  especially  those  which, 
like  the  elephant  and  the  dog,  lead  a  more  or  less  complex 
existence  and  apply  to  the  conduct  of  their  affairs  the 
methods  of  reason,  we  find  unmistakable  evidences  of  the 
sense  of  responsibility.  The  trained  collie  holds  himself 
responsible  to  his  master  for  the  flock  ;  and  he  is  treated 
with  a  measure  of  that  consideration  which  is  due  to 
responsible  beings.  Speaking  broadly,  the  respect  with 
which  a  person  is  treated  is  a  kind  of  index  to  the  degree 
of  his  responsibility.  The  irresponsible  are  treated  with 
indulgence,  not  with  respect.  If  they  are  immune  from 
penalties,  they  are  also  exempt  from  powers  and  privi- 
leges. They  are  regarded  as  irrelevant. 

404 


Personal  Responsibility. 

The  responsibility  most  widely  recognized  and  most 
immediately  effective  is  that  which  makes  us  answer- 
able to  others,  to  an  authority,  human  or  divine,  outside  of 
ourselves.  "The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wis- 
dom," is  the  ancient  teacher's  way  of  expressing  the  force 
of  this  responsibility.  It  is  the  step  toward  a  realization  of 
that  higher  kind  of  responsibility  which  bids  one  hold  him- 
self answerable  to  the  tribunal  of  his  own  conscience. 
When  this  second  kind  of  responsibility  comes  to  be  uni- 
versally and  effectively  accepted,  the  first  kind  will  be 
superseded  ;  and  the  millennium  will  have  come.  In  that 
day  the  emperor  and  the  anarchist  will  lie  down  together. 

IT  is  obvious  that  men  have  to  do  with  two  different 
kinds  of  responsibility  :  First,  that  which  entails 
upon  every  individual  as  a  member  of  the  human  brother- 
hood ;  and,  second,  that  which  is  made  up  of  the  innumer- 
able duties  and  obligations  which  each  individual  assumes 
for  himself  or  finds  thrust  upon  him  by  his  special  circum- 
stance. The  first  kind  is  universal,  and  practically  con- 
stant. It  varies  only  with  the  expansion  or  contraction  of 
one's  sphere  of  influence.  It  may  be,  and  too  often  is, 
ignored  ;  but  it  cannot  be  escaped,  it  cannot  be  shirked. 
Fully  realized  it  is  a  rich  source  of  power,  an  effective 
means  of  self -discipline  and  development.  Ignored,  it  is 
bound  to  exact  bitter  penalty  in  the  end.  The  second  kind 
is  never  in  any  two  cases  quite  the  same.  It  varies  as 

405 


Personal  Responsibility. 

infinitely  as  the  relations  of  life  vary.  It  varies  with  each 
man's  outward  circumstance  and  inward  conditions, —  with 
health,  temperament,  and  even  mood.  It  is  made  up  of 
duties  and  obligations,  some  of  which  may  honestly  be 
avoided,  others  modified,  while  most  are  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree  subject  to  the  determination  of  the  personal 
will.  Allowing,  however,  for  the  exceptions  which  may 
be  brought  in  under  the  head  of  this  second  class,  it  is  safe 
to  say,  as  a  generalization,  that  the  responsibility  accepted 
saves,  while  the  responsibility  ignored  damns.  One  may 
hide  his  eyes  in  the  sand,  like  the  ostrich,  and  fancy  him- 
self safe  ;  but  the  responsibility  to  which  he  has  blinded 
himself  will  hunt  him  down  and  pierce  him. 

3  INGE  the  sense  of  responsibility  is  a  late  flowering 
of  one's  higher  faculties,  and  since  in  many  persons 
this  flowering  is  never  otherwise  than  scant,  it  follows  that 
much  shirking  of  responsibility  arises  from  sheer  igno- 
rance, or  from  the  thoughtlessness  of  the  unawakened. 
When  the  consumptive  mother  in  kissing  her  child  gives  it 
the  seeds  of  her  disease,  she  does  it  in  ignorance.  She  does 
not  know  her  responsibility  in  the  matter.  She  thinks  the 
instinct  of  a  mother's  love  must  be  a  safe  guide.  She 
ignores  one  of  her  gravest  responsibilities.  Her  ignorance 
and  her  love  together,  one  would  think,  might  win  her 
mercy.  But  the  natural  law  is  not  to  be  set  aside  for  pity. 
She  is  punished  just  as  if  she  had  known  and  willfully 

406 


*  Personal  Responsibility. 

ignored  her  responsibility.  Moreover,  she  can  never  know 
how  vast  was  the  sphere  of  that  responsibility  to  which  she 
was  so  piteously  false.  She  can  never  know  how  much 
further  afield  her  child  may  carry  the  germs  which  have 
been  committed  to  it  from  her  lips.  She  can  never  know 
what  lives  she  may  have  wrecked  by  that  one  kiss. 

This  instance  is  purely  physical.  But  far  wider  — 
their  boundaries,  indeed,  all  but  infinite  —  are  the  spheres 
of  intellectual  and  moral  responsibility.  Any  simile  which 
should  attempt  to  illustrate  the  vast  reach  of  an  individ- 
ual's influence  —  which  is,  in  varying  degree,  the  reach  of 
his  responsibility  —  would  sound  like  gross  exaggeration. 
When  Tesla,  the  wizard  of  electricity,  tells  us  that  the 
electric  waves  from  his  great  generator  send  sympathetic 
vibrations  throughout  the  whole  electric  system  of  our 
globe,  he  tells  us  what  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale,  but  what 
we  nevertheless  believe  to  be  hard  fact,  definite  and  de- 
monstrable. The  imagination  refuses  to  grasp  a  sphere  of 
influence  so  vast  and  moved  by  a  force  so  insignificant. 
Yet  something  that  seems  but  an  idle  passing  of  man's 
breath  over  the  vocal  chords,  a  few  light  words  forgotten 
in  a  moment  by  the  brain  that  conceived  them,  may  be  felt 
beyond  the  reach  of  Tesla's  magic  wave.  This  has  only 
space  to  work  in  ;  but  the  vibration  of  personal  influence 
goes  through  time  as  well,  and  may  be  active  a  thousand 
years  from  its  start  on  a  careless  tongue. 

This  is  an  extreme  instance,  but  within  the  limits  of 

407 


Personal  Responsibility. 

truth.  Extreme  instances  are  needed  to  catch  the  imagina- 
tion. One  is  apt  to  grow  sluggish  of  perception  toward  the 
remoter  but  graver  responsibilities  of  life.  The  temporal 
responsibilities,  lying  very  close  at  hand,  are  apt  to  obscure 
the  eternal  ones.  On  the  other  hand  there  are  many 
morbid  souls  who  should  never  permit  themselves  to  re- 
gard such  extreme  instances  at  all,  lest  in  their  extrava- 
gant care  for  unborn  generations  they  be  heedless  of  the 
duty  at  their  door.  Such  persons  groan  under  the  bur- 
dens of  the  whole  earth.  They  cannot  distinguish  between 
their  own  responsibility  and  that  of  others,  except  that  the 
latter  chiefly,  rather  than  their  own,  fills  their  eyes  and 
stirs  their  hearts.  For  such  persons  it  is  wholesome  to 
dwell  rather  on  responsibility  of  the  second  and  temporal 
class  than  on  the  eternal  and  inescapable  species. 

RESPONSIBILITY,  as  I  have  said,  is  the  nurse  of 
V-,  power.  The  truth  of  this  is  obvious  when  the 
responsibility  referred  to  belongs  to  the  second,  or  tem- 
poral, class.  The  power  which  such  responsibility  nour- 
ishes is  apt  to  be  material,  or  at  least,  if  intellectual  or 
spiritual,  of  such  a  nature  as  to  be  in  some  part  weighed 
and  considered  of  men.  The  dictum  is  in  this  case  more 
readily  brought  home  by  illustration  ;  and  its  truth  upon 
the  higher  plane, —  where  the  eternal  responsibilities  are  in- 
tended, and  that  spiritual  power  which  is  not  manifest  to 
the  careless  eye, —  may  be  argued  by  analogy. 

408 


Personal  Responsibility. 

When  a  young  man  becomes  answerable  to  society  for 
his  own  livelihood,  his  own  standing,  he  at  once  calls  into 
use  those  faculties  which  he  has, —  and  for  the  most  part 
finds  them,  at  the  time,  insufficient.  He  feels  the  need 
of  more  power.  He  strives  for  it ;  and  in  the  striving  it 
comes.  It  comes,  however,  not  so  abundantly  but  that  he 
is  kept  on  striving  for  it.  Nature  is  pretty  sure  to  give  a 
little  less  than  is  asked  of  her.  Nevertheless,  it  comes, 
and  presently,  if  he  stops  and  takes  stock  of  himself,  the 
young  man  finds  his  power  astonishingly  increased.  He  is 
richer  in  self-control,  in  self-knowledge,  in  the  knowledge 
and  control  of  others,  in  a  perception  of  the  true  relations 
of  things.  If  you  look  into  his  eyes  you  see  something 
that  was  not  there  before,  a  steadiness  and  a  readiness. 

All  this  added  power,  however,  is  barely  sufficient  to 
meet  the  needs  of  his  responsibility  for  himself.  Let  him 
become  answerable  for  others, —  for  wife  or  kin,  for  great 
public  interests,  for  a  cause  that  fires  his  zeal, —  and  he 
soon  finds  that  much  more  is  to  be  done,  that  much  more 
power  is  needed.  Instead  of  timorously  slinking  out  of  the 
responsibility,  he  staggers  along  beneath  it  and  grasps 
eagerly  for  more  power.  In  the  stress  the  new  power 
comes.  His  back  grows  broad  for  the  burden.  He  stag- 
gers no  longer.  And  now  his  eyes  have  changed  yet  more. 
They  are  quiet  with  a  certain  experienced  equanimity  ; 
and  he  faces  his  fellows  securely,  as  a  master  workman  in 

the  guild  of  life. 

409 


Personal  Responsibility. 

##*##### 

A  deeper  lesson  to  mortals  taught, 

And  nearer  cut  the  branches  of  their  pride  : 

That  not  in  mental,  but  in  moral  worth, 

God  excellence  placed  ;  and  only  to  the  good, 

To  virtue,  granted  happiness  alone. 

Admire  the  goodness  of  Almighty  God  ! 

He  riches  gave,  he  intellectual  strength 

To  few,  and  therefore  now  commands  to  be, 

Or  rich,  or  learned  ;  nor  promises  reward 

Of  peace  to  these.     On  all  he  moral  worth 

Bestowed  ;  and  moral  tribute  asked  from  all. 

And  who  that  could  not  pay?     Who  born  so  poor, 

Of  intellect  so  mean,  as  not  to  know 

What  seemed  the  best ;  and,  knowing,  might  not  do? 

As  not  to  know  what  God  and  conscience  bade? 

And  what  they  bade,  not  able  to  obey  ? 

And  he  who  acted  thus  fulfilled  the  law 

Eternal,  and  its  promise  reaped  of  peace  : 

Found  peace  this  way  alone  :  who  sought  else, 

Sought  mellow  grapes  beneath  the  icy  pole  ; 

Sought  blooming  roses  on  the  cheek  of  death  ; 

Sought  substance  in  a  world  of  fleeting  shades. 

—  Robert  Pollock. 


410 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-SEVEN. 


The  Important  Step. 


IN  the  history  of  every  one  there  comes  a  time  when  an 
important  step  must  be  taken  and  a  momentous 
question  decided.  The  period  in  which  this  step  is 
taken  is  a  most  critical  one,  one  fraught  with  the  mightiest 
consequences  for  weal  or  woe.  It  holds  the  destiny  of 
human  life.  An  error  here  cannot  be  corrected. 

A  happy  decision  is  a  fortune  to  which  nothing  on 
earth  can  be  compared. 

It  is  the  custom  to  speak  lightly  on  this  subject,  and  to 
consider  the  most  awful  issue  of  life  as  a  fit  occasion  for 
mirth  and  idle  jest.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  cus- 
tom lies  at  the  root  of  a  large  percentage  of  the  miseries 
that  mar  the  happiness  of  the  race. 

So  long  as  young  boys  and  girls  are  allowed  to  trifle 
with  each  other's  affections,  as  if  that  were  their  highest 
use,  the  world  will  be  the  theater  of  untold  sorrow.  It  is 
true  that  the  love  element  will  not  bear  to  be  reduced  to 
the  standard  of  a  commercial  transaction.  It  must  have 
the  liberty  to  spread  its  wings  in  the  atmosphere  of  its  own 

411 


The  Important  Step. 

divine  romance.  We  must  not  take  away  the  poetry  which 
is  its  vital  breath. 

And  yet  there  are  certain  phases  of  it  that  may  and 
should  be  submitted  to  the  tribunal  of  reason.  We  do  not 
believe  that  reason  can  in  any  sense  furnish  the  motive 
power  of  love.  We  even  doubt  if  nature  intended  it  to 
play  any  part  whatever  in  the  programme. 

We  belong  to  that  school  which  teaches  that  each  and 
every  part  of  man's  nature  contains  a  principle  of  wisdom 
in  itself,  and  holds  the  elements  of  its  own  regulation.  It 
is  not  the  natural  office  of  reason  to  dictate  the  amount  or 
quality  of  food  that  we  should  take,  and  yet  in  the  case  of 
dyspepsia  it  often  becomes  necessary  that  reason  should 
perform  this  function,  for  the  natural  instinct  is  then 
dethroned  and  there  is  no  longer  any  trustworthy  guide. 
Reason  may  in  this  case  serve  as  a  poor  substitute. 

The  foregoing  illustration  contains  the  whole  truth 
concerning  the  relation  of  reason  to  the  love  principle.  If 
the  delicate  sentiments  have  not  been  outraged,  and  the 
tastes  are  unvitiated,  they  will  invariably  lead  to  desirable 
results,  when  the  proper  conditions  are  supplied.  But  in 
most  cases  this  subtile  instinct  is  but  an  imperfect  guide, 
because  it  has  been  perverted  by  improper  action. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  becomes  necessary  to 
submit  the  dyspeptic  caprice  of  the  unregulated  love  to  the 
sound  judgment  of  reason. 

It  is  said  that  "love  is  blind,"  but  this  fancy  originated 


The  Important  Step. 

in  the  observed  phenomena  of  its  perversion,  and  not  of 
its  normal  action.  There  is  nothing  that  can  see  so  well 
as  pure  love.  It  is  all  eyes.  No  nicely  adjusted  lenses  of 
science  can  detect  the  motes  which  its  naked  eye  discerns. 
The  young  man  or  woman  whose  love  intuitions  are 
unclouded  will  seldom  make  a  mistake  in  the  disposal  of 
the  affections. 

I  HERE  is,  however,  a  danger  from  one  other  source, 
^  which  we  will  presently  mention.  It  is  the  theory  of 
most  parents  that  girls  and  young  women  should  never  be 
permitted  to  associate  freely  with  men  until  they  contem- 
plate matrimony.  There  seems  to  be  a  sickly  sentiment 
prevalent  on  this  subject.  The  young  woman  must  feel 
that  there  was  a  kind  of  special  providence  in  her  love 
affair,  and  that  it  would  have  been  absolutely  impossible 
for  her  to  love  anyone  else.  This  distorted  sentiment  is 
common  to  both  sexes,  but  it  exists  for  the  most  part  in 
those  who  have  been  excluded  from  the  society  of  the  other 
sex.  The  fact  that  girls  who  have  brothers  and  boys  who 
have  sisters  usually  make  the  wisest  matrimonial  selec- 
tions, is  one  that  bears  significantly  on  this  subject.  The 
girl  who  has  never  been  permitted  to  associate  with  men, 
and  who  has  no  brothers,  is  very  likely  to  make  a  mistake 
in  the  bestowal  of  her  affections.  The  conjugal  choice  is 
made  through  an  instinct  that  is  attracted  by  the  con- 
genial, and  repelled  by  the  uncongenial.  There  is,  how- 

413 


The  Important  Step. 

ever,  an  attraction  between  the  sexes  even  when  the 
parties  are  not  conjugally  adapted,  and  if  the  young 
woman  has  never  had  an  opportunity  to  compare  this 
attraction,  which  she  may  have  felt,  with  stronger  and 
deeper  ones,  she  will  be  very  apt  to  misinterpret  its  signif- 
icance, and  regard  it  as  a  positive  impulse  of  her  nature. 
This,  then,  is  the  source  of  danger.  It  is  the  fact  that 
nature  seldom  permits  an  absolute  repulsion  between 
women  and  men,  even  between  those  who  are  ill  adapted 
as  conjugal  partners. 

Hence  it  becomes  necessary  in  order  to  rightly  inter- 
pret our  impulses  that  we  should  have  the  opportunity  to 
compare  them. 

If  Nature  had  sharply  drawn  the  lines  of  attraction 
and  repulsion  between  the  compatible  and  the  incompati- 
ble, there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  a  matrimonial  mis- 
take. But  since  she  prefers  to  suggest,  by  a  weakened 
attraction,  rather  than  to  command"  by  a  positive  repul- 
sion, it  requires  a  little  acuteness  to  understand  her  sug- 
gestions. 

It  is  a  fact  proved  from  every  realm  of  natural  history 
that  it  is  the  female's  rightful  office  to  make  the  matri- 
monial selection.  The  lioness  accepts  her  mate  only  after 
ample  opportunities  for  comparison  and  choice.  In  this, 
as  in  many  other  respects,  the  higher  intelligence  may 
learn  a  lesson  from  the  lower.  The  young  woman  should 
have  the  opportunity  of  making  her  selection  from  a  wide 

414 


The  Important  Step. 

circle,  otherwise  she  cannot  so  easily  distinguish  the  false 
from  the  true. 

The  highest  possible  compliment  that  can  be  paid  to  a 
young  man  is  to  be  "  singled  out"  by  the  divine  instinct  of 
a  pure  maiden  who  has  been  the  idol  of  her  brothers,  and 
who  through  her  early  years  has  enjoyed  the  healthy  com- 
radeship of  boys. 


\i/E  are  not  by  any  means  advocating  that  fatal  vice 
^  known  as  flirting.  A  flirt  is  one  who  purposely 
wins,  or  tries  to  win,  the  affections  of  the  other  sex  with  no 
serious  intention,  or  simply  for  sport,  and  the  wicked 
pleasure  that  some  experience  in  being  able  to  pain 
another's  heart.  Perhaps  more  hearts  are  won  by  cunning 
coquettes  for  the  ruthless  purpose  of  seeing  them  bleed 
when  cast  aside  than  for  any  other  purpose. 

We  do  not  hesitate  to  express  our  firm  belief  that  the 
evils  of  flirtation  are  more  widespread  and  disastrous  in 
their  consequences  than  those  of  intemperance.  They 
blight  the  tenderest  sentiments  as  the  frost  blights  the 
buds.  They  freeze  the  holiest  emotions  of  the  soul,  and 
leave  the  heart  a  barren  waste.  Like  the  cornfield  whose 
fences  have  been  burned  away,  they  leave  the  heart  open 
to  the  devouring  herds  of  vice. 

But  young  women  and  men  may  associate  without 
flirtation.  There  is  nothing  better  for  a  young  man  than 

415 


The  Important  Step. 

to  associate  as  a  friend  with  a  pure-minded  girl,  and  the 
benefit  to  the  latter  is  equally  great. 


I  A |HEN  love  begins  in  friendship  it  rarely  makes  a  mis- 
^  take.  Love  should  never  be  contemplated  between 
parties  who  cannot  first  be  firm  friends.  But  such  exclu- 
sive association  is  not  at  all  necessary.  It  is,  perhaps,  as 
well  that  the  young  man  or  woman  should  have  a  circle  of 
friends  and  acquaintances  made  up  of  both  sexes.  In  this 
case,  if  the  early  training  has  been  what  it  should  have 
been,  and  the  natural  and  pure  impulses  of  the  child  have 
not  been  interfered  with,  there  will  seldom  be  a  need  of 
any  other  form  of  association. 

One  of  the  worst  things  a  parent  can  do  is  to  shame  a 
little  girl  because  she  is  inclined  to  play  with  little  boys. 
She  should  be  taught  to  feel  that  there  is  nothing  wrong  or 
unladylike  in  such  conduct.  So  the  boy  should  not  be 
teased  by  his  parents  or  older  brothers  and  sisters  because 
he  smiles  upon  a  little  girl,  or  manifests  a  preference  for 
her  society.  Such  preferences,  of  course,  should  not  be 
strong,  since  they  would  then  be  unnatural  and  would 
indicate  precocity,  which  should  be  dreaded  as  among  the 
worst  calamities  to  which  childhood  is  subject. 

The  exclusive  association  of  a  young  man  and  a  young 
woman,  not  affianced,  must  generally  claim  our  disap- 
proval. Frequently  such  contact  fails  of  the  highest 

416 


The  Important  Step. 

ends, —  the  graces  of  personality  and  the  inspiration  of  a 
varying  companionship. 

The  best  girls,  the  best  sweethearts,  the  best  wives, 
and  the  best  mothers  are  those  who  have  been  the  intimate 
but  innocent  associates  of  young  men. 

But  so  long  as  so  many  young  women  have  been  de- 
barred from  association  with  the  other  sex,  and  still  more 
have,  by  flirtations,  so  vitiated  their  intuitive  perceptions 
of  congeniality  that  these  are  no  longer  safe  guides,  it  is, 
perhaps,  as  well  to  give  some  advice  in  regard  to  those 
cases  in  which  it  becomes  necessary  to  substitute  reason  in 
place  of  instinct. 

I N  the  first  place,  it  is  necessary  to  ascertain  what  direc- 
tion, under  the  given  circumstances,  instinct  would 
take  if  it  were  in  a  healthy  state  or  if  it  were  to  act  under 
more  favorable  conditions. 

Its  action  is  as  strictly  subject  to  law  as  that  of  gravi- 
tation and  may  be  studied  with  the  most  satisfactory 
results.  Love's  preferences  are  not  unreasonable.  The 
tall,  spare,  dark-eyed  young  man  does  not  single  out  the 
plump,  blonde,  blue-eyed  maiden  without  a  cause. 

The  rosy  cheeked  brunette,  with  face  and  shoulders 
shaped  like  her  father's,  does  not  toss  her  raven  locks 
invitingly  to  the  blue-eyed,  fair-skinned,  short,  stout,  and 
sanguine  young  man  from  any  mere  whim  of  lawless  ca- 
price. The  hand  that  guides  the  stars  is  not  more  un- 

417 


The  Important  Step. 

swerving  than  the  law  of  sexual  preferences.  Nor  is  this 
law  hidden  and  inscrutable.  It  lies  upon  the  surface  and 
may  be  easily  discovered  and  formulated. 

Briefly  stated,  it  is  simply  the  law  by  which  individual 
eccentricities  are  prevented  from  coming  under  the  law  of 
entailment,  or,  more  properly,  by  which  the  law  of  entail- 
ment  is  made  to  neutralize  them.  Without  this  provision, 
eccentricities  would  perpetually  accumulate  and  reinforce 
themselves  until  all  the  affinities  of  the  race  would  be  lost 
in  unapproachable  differences. 

Just  in  so  far  as  one  departs  from  symmetry  in  his 
own  physical  or  mental-  make-up,  this  law  causes  him  to 
prefer,  in  the  other  sex,  those  opposite  peculiarities  which 
will  counterbalance  his  own,  and  which,  when  blended, 
and  subjected  to  the  law  of  heredity,  will  tend  to  the  lost 
symmetry.  Each  sex  desires  in  the  other  the  complement 
of  its  own  eccentricities.  There  is  a  neutral  point  where 
each  desires  its  own  likeness.  This  point  is  absolute  sym- 
metry and  perfection.  It  corresponds  to  the  neutral  point 
of  .a  magnet.  On  either  side  of  this  point  like  eccentrici- 
ties repel,  and  unlike  attract. 

If  a  human  being  could  be  found  perfect  and  symmet- 
rical in  all  respects,  that  person  would  be  drawn  toward 
one  of  the  other  sex  exactly  like  himself.  This  law  of 
sexual  preference  would  in  his  case  be  entirely  suspended, 
as  there  would  be  nothing  for  it  to  do. 

He  would  be  left  to  act  in  accordance  with  another 

418 


The  Important  Step. 

law,  which  is  antagonistic  to  that  of  sexual  preferences. 
It  is  that  by  which  we  are  drawn  toward  those  possessing 
the  same  peculiarities  as  ourselves. 

These  two  tendencies,  though  antagonistic,  are  not 
inconsistent.  The  one  acts  between  the  sexes,  the  other 
between  those  of  the  same  sex.  In  the  case  of  perfect 
symmetry  which  we  have  supposed,  the  latter  law  would 
act  even  between  persons  of  opposite  sexes. 

Human  eccentricities  may  be  conceived  as  arcs  of 
circles  circumscribed  about  the  point  of  absolute  perfection. 
The  field  of  this  sexual  law  lies  within  these  circles,  and 
the  strongest  affinity  is  that  between  corresponding  arcs 
which  would  be  joined  by  a  line  passing  through  the 
center. 

Having  discovered  the  law  then,  what  is  necessary  in 
order  to  make  application  of  it,  when  our  instinctive  per- 
ception of  conjugal  adaptation  becomes  untrustworthy,  is 
to  ascertain  our  own  peculiarities,  excesses,  and  deficien- 
cies, and  match  them  with  opposite  ones  in  the  other 
sex. 

I  HERE  is  a  limit,  however,   to  the  degree  of  differ- 

V  ence  that  is  permissible.     It  should  never  be  so  great 

that  each  cannot  sympathize  with  the  other,  and  take  an 

interest  in  those  things   which   interest  the  other.      The 

woman  who  is  unusually  refined  will  naturally  be  attracted 

by  a  man  not  over  refined,  but  somewhat  rough,  and  she 

419 


The  Important  Step. 

will  often  be  proud  of  his  deep  voice  and  uncombed  hair. 
Yet  coarseness  and  vulgarity  she  cannot  sympathize  with, 
and  should  never  seek  that  degree  of  difference.  One  who 
is  musical  need  not  select  one  who  cannot  distinguish  one 
tune  from  another  ;  but  the  one  should  be  sufficiently 
endowed,  at  least,  to  appreciate  the  superiority  of  the 
other. 

It  is  not  so  necessary  that  there  should  be  a  diversity 
in  respect  to  talent,  as  in  respect  to  character  and  disposi- 
tion. The  talents,  tastes,  and  proficiencies  may  with 
great  advantage  be  in  the  same  general  line  in  both 
parties  ;  but  physical  peculiarities  and  eccentricities  of 
disposition  should  be  conscientiously  submitted  to  the  law 
of  sexual  preference. 


a  right  matrimonial  selection  is  not  all  that  is 
necessary.  The  preservation  of  love  is  the  finest  of 
the  fine  arts.  To  win  a  heart  is  within  the  capacity  of 
most,  but  to  keep  it  lies  within  the  power  of  few.  He  who 
shall  discover  the  magic  secret  of  preserving  love,  and 
shall  induce  the  world  to  adopt  it,  shall  confer  the  grandest 
blessing  ever  yet  conferred  by  mortal.  This  tribute  will 
not  seem  overstated  to  those  who  understand  and  real- 
ize how  much  of  human  sin  is  traceable  to  the  absence 
of  love  in  parentage.  The  world  can  never  know  how 

large  a  part  of    its  intellectually  and  morally   deformed, 

420 


The  Important  Step. 

were  the  unwelcome  offspring  of  unloved  and  unloving 
mothers. 

It  cannot  be  that  love  was  intended  only  for  life's  rosy 
dawn,  that  its  first  thrill  is  its  death  throe.  Could  God  so 
mock  the  brightest  and  sweetest  hopes  of  earth  as  to  ordain 
that  love  should  grow  cold  and  vanish  like  a  summer 
dream  while  yet  the  fragrance  of  the  orange  blossoms  lin- 
gers, and  the  bridal  vow  still  trembles  on  the  new  kissed 
lips  ?  Is  it  true  that  love  is  but  the  brilliant  rainbow  that 
trembles  for  a  moment  through  the  mist  of  human  tears, 
then  fades  forever  while  we  gaze  ?  No  !  the  very  law  of 
heredity  demands  the  preservation  of  love.  Nature  some- 
times goes  so  far  as  to  punish  its  withdrawal  with  intel- 
lectual and  moral  idiocy. 

The  magic  secret  of  which  we  spoke  lies  not  in  the 
means  of  preserving  love,  but  in  securing  the  world's  con- 
sent to  use  the  means  that  lie  within  its  reach.  There  is 
no  secret  in  the  means. 

They  are  contained  in  the  formulated  expression  of  a 
well  known  law  that  love  cannot  live  unless  its  physical 
phase  is  in  right  subjection  to  its  spiritual. 

Spiritual  love  lives  by  its  own  right,  but  the  physical 
lives  only  by  lease  of  the  spiritual.  They  can  live  together 
only  on  one  changeless  and  eternal  condition,  and  that 
condition  is  the  supremacy  of  the  spiritual  over  the  phys- 
ical. This  then  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  the  preservation 

of  wedded    love.     When    this   condition    is  reversed  the 

421 


The  Important  Step. 

spiritual  phase  soon  dies  altogether,  and  at  last  even  the 
physical  itself  ;  and  two  hearts  that  once  beat  together  are 
severed  past  reuniting. 

It  is  strange  that  the  world  so  stubbornly  refuses  to 
profit  by  its  own  experience.  Every  untried  ship  that  sails 
so  proudly  from  the  port  with  its  "freight  of  spirits  twain" 
passes  on  every  side  a  shivering  wreck  ;  yet  they  heed  not 
the  wailing  cries  from  the  perishing,  but  sail  straight 
onward  to  the  rock  of  nature's  deepest  damnation. 

We  have  pointed  out  the  divine  means  by  which  alone 
love  can  live.  Try  it  by  all  the  significance  of  heredity,  by 
all  that  being  signifies,  by  all  the  prayers  and  tender 
yearnings  at  the  cradle  side,  by  your  hopes  of  heaven, 
try  it. 

Let  woman  remember  that  this  doctrine  appeals  to  her 
with  doubled  force.  It  is  through  you,  O  woman,  that  the 
world  must  heed  it.  Whatever  other  wrongs  you  may  sub- 
mit to,  whatever  rights  may  be  denied  you  in  the  social 
world,  remember  that  in  this  matter  you  should  proclaim 
yourself  the  sovereign  ruler.  Your  voice  may  be  silenced 
in  the  roaring  mart,  you  may  be  pushed  aside  by  the  mad 
crowd,  but  behind  the  silken  folds  that  hide  the  sanctity  of 
wedded  joy  you  are  the  sovereign  divinely  ordained.  By 
the  necessities  and  consistencies  of  your  being,  by  every 
argument  from  the  exhaustless  realm  of  natural  history, 
by  every  law  of  nature  and  of  God,  you  bear  the  badge  of 
rightful  sovereignty. 

422 


The  Important  Step. 

"  Fair  youth,  too  timid  to  lift  your  eyes 

To  the  maiden  with  downcast  look, 
As  you  mingle  the  gold  and  brown  of  your  curls 

Together  over  a  book  ; 
A  fluttering  hope  that  she  dare  not  name 

Her  trembling  bosom  heaves  ; 
And  your  heart  is  thrilled,  when  your  fingers  meet, 

As  you  softly  turn  the  leaves. 

"  Perchance  you  two  will  walk  alone 

Next  year  at  some  sweet  day's  close, 
And  your  talk  will  fall  to  a  tenderer  tone, 

As  you  liken  her  cheek  to  a  rose  ; 
And  then  her  face  will  flush  and  glow, 

With  a  hopeful,  happy  red  ; 
Outblushing  all  the  flowers  that  grow 

Anear  in  the  garden-bed. 

"  If  you  plead  for  hope,  she  may  bashful  drop 

Her  head  on  your  shoulder,  low  ; 
And  you  will  be  lovers  and  sweethearts  then 

As  youths  and  maidens  go  : 
Lovers  and  sweethearts,  dreaming  dreams, 

And  seeing  visions  that  please, 
With  never  a  thought  that  life  is  made 

Of  great  realities ; 

« '  That  the  cords  of  love  must  be  strong  as  death 

Which  hold  and  keep  a  heart, 
Not  daisy  chains,  that  snap  in  the  breeze, 
Or  break  with  their  weight  apart ; 
423 


For  the  pretty  colors  of  youth's  lair  morn 
Fade  out  from  the  noonday  sky ; 

And  blushing  loves  in  the  roses  born 
Alas  !   with  the  roses  die  I 

"  But  the  love,  that  when  youth's  morn  is  past, 

Still  sweet  and  true  survives, 
Is  the  faith  we  need  to  lean  upon 

In  the  crises  of  our  lives  : 
The  love  that  shines  in  the  eyes  grown  dim, 

In  the  voice  that  trembles,  speaks  ; 
And  sees  the  roses  that  years  ago 

Withered  and  died  in  our  cheeks  ; 

"  That  sheds  a  halo  around  us  still 

Of  soft  immortal  light, 
When  we  change  youth's  golden  coronal 

For  a  crown  of  silver  white  ; 
A  love  for  sickness  and  for  health, 

For  rapture  and  for  tears  ; 
That  will  live  for  us,  and  bear  with  us, 

Through  all  our  mortal  years. 

"  And  such  there  is ;  there  are  lovers  here, 

On  the  brink  of  the  grave  that  stand, 
Who  shall  cross  to  the  hills  beyond,  and  walk 

Forever  hand  in  hand  ! 
Pray,  youth  and  maid,  that  your  end  be  theirs 

Who  are  joined  no  more  to  part ; 
For  death  comes  not  to  the  living  soul, 

Nor  age  to  the  loving  heart !  " 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-EIGHT. 


Leaving  Horrae. 


I  VERY  one  must  leave  his  home.  The  young  eaglet 
cannot  forever  nestle  beneath  the  protecting  wing  of 
its  mother.  It  is  a  law  of  life  itself  that  we 
cannot  always  stay  at  home.  If  the  children  were  to 
remain  at  home  through  life,  if  this  were  the  natural  order 
of  things,  the  institution  of  home  would  be  impossible,  for 
each  home  would  grow  with  the  accumulating  generations, 
till  at  length  it  would  outgrow  the  boundaries  that  must 
define  a  home,  and  the  institution  would  be  lost  in  general 
society.  To  avert  this  disaster  nature  has  arranged  that 
the  child  shall  leave  his  home  when  he  has  become  compe- 
tent to  care  for  him'self  and  to  organize  another  home. 
Thus  each  generation  repeats  the  programme  of  the 
preceding. 

The  proper  function  of  the  home  is  to  serve  as  the  nur- 
sery of  the  race,  to  protect  the  young  scions  of  manhood 
and  womanhood  till  they  have  become  sufficiently  strong 
to  compel  society  and  the  world  to  yield  them  the  required 
physical  and  mental  sustenance.  And  yet  this  metaphor 

427 


Leaving  Home. 

hardly  serves  our  purpose,  since  the  child  does  not  leave 
his  home  to  enter  into  the  great  tide  of  the  world  and 
become  a  floating  speck  on  the  turbulent  surface  of  society, 
but,  like  the  young  tree,  he  is  simply  transplanted  from 
the  nursery  to  become  the  fruitful  source  of  another  nur- 
sery. There  is  no  natural  requirement  of  life  that  is  not 
preceded  by  a  desire  and  impulse  in  that  direction. 
Accordingly  the  young  man,  as  he  approaches  the  age  of 
maturity,  begins  to  feel  the  gentle  stimulus  of  a  curious 
enterprise  urging  him  to  look  beyond  the  walls  of  the  old 
home  out  into  the  great  world.  He  hears  the  distant  hum 
of  the  great  city,  he  feels  the  electric  throb  of  the  rushing 
train,  and  longs  to  mingle  in  the  ceaseless  tumult  of  life,  — 

In  the  strife  of  brain  and  pen, 

'Mid  the  rumble  of  the  presses 
Where  they  measure  men  with  men. 

Under  the  impulse  of  this  feeling,  he  leaves  the  old 
home,  but  not  forever.  No  young  man  or  woman  ever 
leaves  home  with  the  intention  of  abandoning  it  forever. 
The  dutiful  child  carries  away  the  home  with  him.  He  is 
himself  a  product  of  the  home.  Every  feature  of  his  char- 
acter reflects  the  character  of  the  home.  As  the  tree 
records  the  nature  of  the  soil  and  climate,  so  the  young 
man  carries  ever  with  him  the  old  home.  Every  mother 
is  carried  into  the  city  on  the  brow  of  her  son.  Her  care, 
her  love,  her  examples,  her  prayers,  are  all  written  there. 

428 


Leaving  Home. 

The  city  knows  the  country  in  this  way.  It  reads  the  his- 
tory of  the  country  on  the  brows  of  the  farmer  boys.  How 
careful,  then,  should  parents  be  in  regard  to  these  reports 
which  they  are  sending  into  the  cities  !  The  little  home 
that  nestles  among  the  hills  shall  be  published  to  the  world, 
and  the  silent  influence  of  its  daily  life  shall  blend  with 
the  surging  passions  that  drive  the  tide  of  human  life 
along  the  crowded  streets. 

Mother  !  your  life  is  not  insignificant.  It  is  not  and 
cannot  be  isolated  from  universal  significance,  for  your 
boy  shall  bear  it  into  the  great  tide  that  never  ebbs.  The 
story  of  the  fireside  is  written  upon  the  altars  of  great 
cathedrals,  in  senate  chambers,  and  in  the  busy  mart.  It 
is  inscribed  in  invisible  characters  upon  the  sides  of  steam- 
boats and  railway  trains,  and  on  the  marble  fronts  of  the 
brilliant  temples  of  trade.  The  great  outward  world  of 
commercial  storm  and  sunshine,  of  laughter  and  weeping, 
of  honor  and  dishonor,  draws  its  life  from  the  home.  It  is 
linked  to  the  hearthstone  by  a  thousand  ties  that  run  far 
under  the  surface  of  society. 

The  leaving  of  home  is  an  experience  in  one's  life 
freighted  with  momentous  consequences.  It  is  a  fact  in 
botany  that  the  critical  period  in  the  life  of  a  plant  is  when 
it  has  consumed  all  the  albumen  stored  up  in  the  seed  for 
its  support,  and  is  just  beginning  to  put  forth  its  tender 
little  rootlets  into  the  outer  soil,  to  draw  henceforth  in 
independence  its  life  from  the  earth's  great  storehouse. 

429 


Leaving  Home. 

So  the  critical  and  dangerous  period  of  a  child's  life  is 
when  he  has  burst  the  environments  of  home,  and  steps 
out  from  the  little  quiet  circle  to  earn  his  first  morsel  of 
bread  with  his  own  hands,  and  to  negotiate  independently 
with  the  great  crafty  world. 

This  is  the  period  that  tries  the  character  and  tests  its 
genuineness.  If  the  young  man  withstands  the  shock  that 
comes  with  the  first  wild  consciousness  that  he  is  in  a  city, 
and  that  the  currents  and  counter  currents  of  life  are  dash- 
ing in  bewildering  torrents  at  his  feet,  if,  amid  the  surges 
and  the  inviting  spray,  he  stands  firmly  anchored  to  the 
rock  of  home-born  principle,  if  he  does  not  grow  dizzy  and 
mad  with  the  ceaseless  roar  and  rumble,  if  he,  in  safety, 
passes  for  the  first  time  the  brilliant  fronts  of  illuminated 
hells,  and,  with  his  mother's  benediction  on  his  lips,  turns 
coldly  from  the  first  alluring  invitation  of  the  tempter,  he 
has  passed  the  fearful  crisis  of  his  life. 

We  would  not,  of  course,  contend  that  the  only  danger 
to  this  young  man  from  city  influences  comes  with  his 
first  actual  entrance  into  the  city,  that  he  is  never  in  dan- 
ger after  he  has  once  passed  the  novitiate  of  his  new 
experience  successfully. 

We  simply  mean  that  if  the  young  man  succeeds  in 
resisting  the  temptations  that  beset  him  during  that  period 
in  which  he  feels  the  elation  of  his  independence,  he  has 
passed  the  most  critical  period.  This  is  the  period  in  which 

the  young  man's  character  is  particularly  susceptible  to 

430 


Leaving  Home. 

evil  influences,  and  if  he  succeeds  in  establishing  his  social 
relations  in  the  city  on  the  proper  basis,  and  becomes  him- 
self established  as  a  permanent  member  of  society,  he  is 
comparatively  safe.  There  is  always  a  feeling  of  romance 
which  accompanies  the  young  man  on  his  first  entrance 
into  the  city.  There  is  a  poetry  in  the  rhythmic  vibrations 
of  the  living  mass.  He  feels  himself  a  part  of  this  mass, 
and  in  a  certain  sense  he  feels  that  he  is  the  mechanical 
equivalent  of  its  never  ceasing  motion.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances one  is  peculiarly  susceptible  to  social  influ- 
ences. 

Those  things  which  awaken  the  sense  of  the  poetical 
and  the  romantic  are  the  most  powerful  in  their  influences 
over  one  who  is  trying  to  veil  the  rural  and  take  on  the  airs 
of  city  life.  Unfortunately  for  the  race,  the  most  poetical 
and  romantic  in  life  is  often  that  which  is  in  some  way 
associated  with  profligacy  and  vice.  Thousands  of  young 
men  of  literary  aspirations  and  brilliant  talents,  through 
the  glittering  but  deadly  romance  of  Poe's  life,  and  the 
poetry  of  Byron's  vices,  have  drowned  their  promise  in 
profligacy. 

Hence  the  evil  influences  which  appeal  most  strongly 
to  the  young  country  lad,  suddenly  transformed  into  a  poet 
through  the  inspiration  of  the  great  city,  are  those  which 
clothe  themselves  with  the  livery  of  beauty.  The  sense  of 
the  beautiful  is  often  the  avenue  through  which  the  sub- 
tlest vice  enters. 

431 


Leaving  Home. 

\  i  |ERE  it  not  for  that  perverted  principle  in  human 
^  nature  that  sees  poetry  in  vice,  the  leaving  of  home 
would  not  be  such  a  catastrophe  to  the  young  man. 
Parents  should  be  careful  not  to  allow  their  children, 
except  in  cases  of  necessity,  to  leave  home  until  their  char- 
acters are  so  far  established  as  to  be  comparatively  safe 
from  the  evil  influences  that  must  surround  them  else- 
where. Young  children  are  never  safe  away  from  home. 

There  is  no  age  in  which  a  person  can  enter  for  the 
first  time  into  general  society  away  from  home  with  abso- 
lute safety,  yet  the  danger  is  particularly  great  to  the 
young.  If  a  child  is  of  a  romantic  turn  of  mind  and  enjoys 
the  reading  of  novels,  his  parents  should  be  particularly 
solicitous  concerning  his  welfare  when  he  goes  for  the  first 
time  into  society. 

Even  a  fondness  for  poetry,  which  would  seem  to  be 
the  purest  and  most  innocent  affection  of  the  mind,  indi- 
cates the  presence  of  those  characteristics  which  render 
one  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  temptations  of  the  great 
city.  The  wisest  precaution  that  a  parent  can  take  when 
his  child  is  about  to  leave  home  is  to  arrange  his  social 
relations  in  advance  for  him.  Arrangements  can  almost 
always  be  made  for  his  introduction  into  those  circles  of 
society  where  he  may  find  desirable  amusements,  and  at 
the  same  time  be  surrounded  by  good  and  wholesome 
influences. 


432 


Leaving  Home. 

L/ROBABLY  the  most  frequent  cause  for  which  chil- 
<\ 
V — *    dren  leave  home  earlier  than  they  ought,  is  for  the 

purpose  of  attending  school.  The  practice  of  sending 
young  children  away  to  boarding  schools  is,  however,  not 
so  common  as  formerly,  from  the  fact  that  the  common 
schools  are  becoming  more  efficient.  Boys  can  now  be 
fitted  for  college  in  many  of  the  free  public  schools, 
while  they  still  remain  at  home  and  under  the  supervision 
of  their  parents. 

This  is  certainly  better  than  sending  them  away.  In- 
deed, except  in  rare  cases,  the  latter  practice  should  be 
abandoned  altogether.  There  are  several  circumstances 
that  combine  to  render  children  at  boarding  school  pecul- 
iarly liable  to  danger.  In  the  first  place,  they  are  usu- 
ally at  that  age  when  they  would  be  most  easily  led 
astray ;  and,  second,  the  occupation  at  school  being  of 
course  wholly  mental,  the  body  is  left  without  sufficient 
exercise,  and,  in  consequence,  the  whole  physical  being 
feels  a  buoyancy  which  is  very  dangerous  unless  under  the 
guidance  and  oversight  of  parents.  Again,  the  stringent 
rules  of  conduct  at  most  boarding  schools  always  have  a 
tendency  to  awaken  the  mischievous  in  boys  and  girls. 

It  is  a  fact  that  has  been  proved  by  the  experience  of 
every  educational  institution  in  which  such  rules  exist, 
that  the  tendency  to  violation  is  almost  in  direct  ratio  to 

the  stringency  of  the  rules.      Consider,  for  example,  the 

433 


Leaving  Home. 

ordinary  boarding  school  rules  relative  to  the  association 
of  the  sexes.  In  many  cases  the  young  man  might  call 
upon  a  girl  schoolmate  with  profit  to  both  parties,  if  there 
were  no  rules  prohibiting  such  an  association  ;  but  when  a 
young  man  calls  clandestinely  upon  a  young  lady,  the 
secret  sense  of  having  violated  rules  whose  authority  they 
are  supposed  to  recognize  often  has  a  disastrous  effect  upon 
their  whole  moral  nature.  But  whatever  we  may  believe 
concerning  the  propriety  or  impropriety  of  such  rules,  it 
cannot  alter  the  fact  of  their  existence  in  almost  every 
seminary  and  boarding  school.  The  rules  may  be  the 
choice  of  the  smaller  evil.  On  this  subject,  however,  we 
have  our  doubts  ;  and  yet  we  do  not  deny  that  there  might 
be  danger  without  them. 

Under  the  circumstances  we  think  the  wisest  course 
for  parents  is  to  secure  the  education  of  their  children 
where  they  can  exercise  a  personal  supervision  over  them. 
Whatever  may  be  the  occasion  for  leaving  home,  whatever 
may  have  been  the  character  of  the  home,  there  comes  to 
every  soul  at  that  moment  a  pang  of  regret  which  scorns 
the  finest  ministries  of  language.  Earth  has  no  more 
pathetic  scene  than  the  common  tableau  of  youth's  depar- 
ture from  the  old  home  where  mother  and  child,  beneath 
the  changing  colors  of  joy  and  sorrow,  stand  folded  in  the 
final  embrace.  Silence  and  tears  are  the  language  of  the 
heart.  That  gush  of  holy  emotion  serves  a  purpose  in  the 
economy  of  our  nature  ;  it  is  to  bind  the  soul  with  cords  of 

434 


Leaving  Home. 

everlasting  remembrance  to  that  firm  anchor  in  the  great 
deep  of  life,  the  home  of  childhood. 

"  T  never  knew  how  well  I  loved 

The  little  cot  where  T  was  born, 
Until  I  stood  beside  the  gate 

One  pleasant,  early  summer  morn, 
And  listened  to  my  mother's  voice. 

She  spoke  such  words  as  mothers  speak  — 
Of  cheer  and  hope  —  and  all  the  while 

The  tear  drops  glistened  on  her  cheek. 
And  soon  she  turned  and  plucked  a  rose 

That  grew  beside  the  cottage  door, 
And,  smiling,  pinned  it  to  my  coat, 

As  she  had  often  done  before. 
I  went  away  :   'twas  long  ago, — 

Still  ever,  till  my  life  shall  close, 
The  dearest  treasure  I  can  know 

Will  be  a  faded  little  rose." 


435 


CHAPTER  THIRTY-NINE. 


Memories   of    Home. 


EAR  to  us  still  are  the  friendships  we  formed 
during-  the  period  of  our  school  life,  and  hard 
was  the  breaking  of  those  ties,  yet  we  cherish 
no  such  memories  of  our  schoolmates  as  we  do  of  home 
and  mother. 

If  we  have  not  already  sundered  the  ties  of  home,  the 
time  will  come  all  too  soon  when  the  silken  cord  must  be 
severed.  This  thought  should  make  us  eager  to  enjoy  all 
we  can  of  the  sweet  dream  of  childhood.  If  we  are  mak- 
ing preparations  for  a  new  home  which  the  poetry  of  youth 
has  painted  with  brilliant  colors,  we  should  not  forget  that 
the  walls  of  that  new  home  must  be  forever  decorated 
with  the  picture  of  the  old  one.  You  may  place  the  wide 
expanse  of  ocean  between  the  two  homes,  but  memory  will 
paint  the  home  of  your  childhood,  and  whatever  you  may 
say  or  do,  will  persist  in  hanging  the  picture  on  the  walls 
of  your  parlor,  your  chamber,  and  your  library.  We  may 
make  our  new  home  all  that  wealth  and  taste  can  produce, 
we  may  lavish  upon  it  all  the  rich  accumulations  of  youth 

436 


Memories  of  Home. 

and  manhood,  but  beside  the  costly  paintings  that  adorn 
the  walls  of  its  parlor,  there  must  hang  that  old  picture. 
Do  what  you  will,  it  must  hang  there  forever.  If  you  take 
it  down,  an  invisible  hand  rehangs  it.  It  is  a  magic  pic- 
ture, and  it  requires  not  the  light  of  day  to  see  it.  You 
can  see  it  better  in  the  hushed  stillness  of  the  night  than 
in  the  light  of  day.  If  the  associations  of  that  old  home 
have  been  unpleasant,  if  there  is  in  that  picture  a  mother, 
who,  in  the  little  room  you  used  to  occupy,  sits  weeping 
over  your  waywardness,  with  the  dark  autographs  of  sor- 
row written  across  her  brow,  if  there  is  a  sister  with  down- 
cast look,  a  father  sitting  by  the  fireside  with  his  head 
resting  upon  his  hands,  prematurely  old  because  you  broke 
his  heart,  how  will  that  picture  haunt  your  guilty  soul  in 
the  night,  how  will  its  sadness  embitter  every  cup  of  joy, 
and  turn  to  wormwood  every  pleasure  ! 

You  cannot  ask  that  father's  forgiveness,  it  is  too  late. 
You  cannot  go  to  mother,  whose  loving  hand  might,  per- 
haps, put  a  veil  over  that  hateful  picture,  or  hang  in  its 
place  a  more  beautiful  one.  It  is  too  late  for  this,  for  you 
helped  bring  a  coffin  to  that  old  home,  long,  long  ago,  and 
be  assured  that  coffin  will  be  painted  in  one  corner  of  the 
picture.  You  can  go  to  the  old  home,  but  the  shed  where 
you  played  with  your  little  sister  will  be  torn  down,  the 
house  will  be  changed,  everything  will  look  strange 
except,  perhaps,  the  old  orchard.  But  this  will  revive  no 
pleasant  memories,  nothing  but  the  sad  day  when  you 

437 


Memories  of  Home. 

quarreled  about  picking  the  apples,  and  struck  your  little 
brother,  who  is  now  sleeping  just  back  of  the  house,  in  the 
garden,  beside  his  mother.  You  can  go  out  there  and  call 
his  name,  but  he  will  not  hear  you.  You  may  strew  with 
flowers  the  graves  of  father,  mother,  and  brother ;  you 
may  erect  costly  stones,  but  these  will  not  atone. 

No  !  Do  not  wait  for  that  sad  day,  but  while  mother 
and  father  are  still  alive,  and  your  little  brother  is  with 
you,  make  home  cheerful.  Keep  your  mother's  forehead 
smooth,  and  your  father's  hair  unsilvered,  just  as  long  as 
you  can. 

If  you  cannot  love  your  mother  and  make  her  happy, 
you  cannot  truly  love  and  make  happy  the  heart  of  any 
woman. 


l  A  FE  exercise  the  greatest  care- in  selecting  the  real  pic- 
^  tures  with  which  we  adorn  our  homes,  and,  if  we 
do  not  afterwards  like  them,  we  can  dispose  of  them  and 
forget  them.  Why  should  we  not,  then,  be  infinitely  more 
careful  concerning  the  character  of  that  picture  on  which 
we  shall  be  compelled  to  gaze  through  life  ? 

Through  the  power  of  memory  the  influences  of  home 
again  become  active  in  our  lives.  The  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  any  particular  portion  of  our  lives  after  we  have 
left  the  old  home  seldom  produce  lasting  impressions  upon 
our  minds.  We  are  not  likely  to  remember  vividly  our 

438 


Memories  of  Home. 

experiences  between  the  ages  of  thirty-five  and  forty,  at 
least  not  in  such  a  way  that  the  remembrance  exerts  an 
influence  over  our  lives  and  thoughts.  But  by  a  wise  and 
beneficent  plan  we  are  so  constituted  that  the  memories 
of  our  early  home,  the  memories  of  that  period  in  which 
our  characters  were  shaped,  shall  be  influential  through 
life.  There  seems  to  be  a  subtile  and  peculiar  propriety  in 
this  fact. 

The  ordinary  influences  of  life  leave  a  sufficiently  deep 
impression  upon  our  characters  as  they  pass  without  being 
repeated,  or,  at  least,  not  oftener  than  their  periodical  na- 
ture may  insure.  But  here  we  find  a  special  provision 
made  to  meet  a  required  exception.  Just  at  that  period 
in  our  lives  when  the  good  and  kindly  influences  of  home 
are  supposed  to  mold  into  consistent  form  the  chaotic  ele- 
ments of  our  character,  a  principle  is  introduced  whereby 
those  influences  are  made  to  be  self-repeating  through  life. 
The  instrumentality  through  which  this  is  effected  is  the 
spirit  of  poetry  which  pervades  the  memory  of  these  early 
years.  No  other  period  of  our  lives  so  lends  itself  to  the 
play  of  our  own  imaginations. 

There  is  nothing  in  life's  experience  that  so  quickly 
and  effectually  awakens  in  the  heart  those  better  elements 
that  ally  us  "to  angels  and  to  God"  as  the  sacred  memo- 
ries of  home.  This  fact  constitutes  a  positive  power  in  our 
lives,  and  growing  out  of  this  fact  is  the  highest  duty  of 
life,  the  duty  to  make  the  character  of  our  home  such  that 

439 


Memories  of  Home. 

its  cherished  memories  shall  be  a  developing  and  gladden- 
ing influence  through  life. 

"  O  memory,  be  sweet  to  me  — 

Take,  take  all  else  at  will, 
So  thou  but  leave  me  safe  and  sound, 
Without  a  token  my  heart  to  wound, 

The  little  house  011  the  hill ! 

<*  Take  all  of  best  from  east  to  west, 

So  thou  but  leave  me  still 
The  chamber,  where  in  the  starry  light 
I  used  to  lie  awake  at  night 

And  list  to  the  whip-poor-will. 

"  Take  violet-bed,  and  rose-tree  red, 
And  the  purple  flags  by  the  mill, 
The  meadow  gay,  and  the  garden-ground, 
But  leave,  oh,  leave  me  safe  and  sound 
The  little  house  on  the  hill ! 

"  The  daisy-lane,  and  the  dove's  low  plain, 

And  the  cuckoo's  tender  bill, 
Take  one  and  all,  but  leave  the  dreams 
That  turned  the  rafters  to  golden  beams, 

In  the  little  house  on  the  hill ! 

"  The  gables  brown,  they  have  tumbled  down, 

And  dry  is  the  brook  by  the  mill ; 
The  sheets  I  used  with  care  to  keep 
Have  wrapt  my  dead  for  the  last  long  sleep, 
In  the  valley,  low  and  still. 
440 


Memories  of  Home. 

"  But,  memory,  be  sweet  to  me, 

And  build  the  walls,  at  will, 
Of  the  chamber  where  I  used  to  mark, 
So  softly  rippling  over  the  dark, 
The  song  of  the  whip-poor-will ! 

"  Ah,  memory,  be  sweet  to  me  ! 

All  other  fountains  chill ; 
But  leave  that  song  so  weird  and  wild, 
Dear  as  its  life  to  the  heart  of  the  child, 
In  the  little  house  on  the  hill !  ' ' 


441 


CHAPTER  FORTY. 


Trials  of   Home. 


V-ae 


E  shall  consider  in  another  chapter,  under  the 
head  of  "  Sorrow  and  its  Meaning,"  those  great 
sorrows  which  sometimes  visit  individuals,  but' 
which  are  not  universal.  They  constitute  the  heroic  treat- 
ment of  the  few  who  languish  in  the  silent  and  more  terri- 
ble wards  of  earth's  great  hospital. 

But  by  the  trials  of  home  we  mean  those  multitudinous 
little  annoyances  of  life  whose  sphere  of  action  is  for  the 
most  part  home.  In  their  individual  capacity  they  are 
insignificant,  and  perhaps  unworthy  of  notice,  and  yet 
their  aggregate  significance  is  written  in  dark  and  heavy 
lines  on  many  a  mother's  brow.  They  are  the  crosses  from 
which  none  escape,  the  inevitable  experiences  of  every 
human  being.  Those  who  scorn  them  as  unworthy  of 
notice  do  not  understand  their  meaning. 

If  every  human  desire  were  adequate  to  its  own  imme- 
diate gratification,  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  trials 
and  disappointments.  But  every  want  of  humanity  is  sep- 
arated from  its  gratification  by  the  length  and  breadth  of 

442 


Trials  of  Home. 

an  effort,  and  the  greater  the  want,  the  longer  and  broader 
the  required  effort.  And  it  often  happens  that  the  effort 
is  too  short  to  span  the  chasm.  There  is  no  system  of 
measurement  by  which  we  can  adapt  the  effort  to  the 
intervening  chasm.  Every  effort  of  man  is  an  experiment. 
It  is  like  building  a  light  bridge  on  land,  with  which  to 
span  a  stream,  the  breadth  of  which  we  have  not  meas- 
ured. When  we  come  to  lay  it  across  the  stream  it  may 
be  too  short. 

Trials  and  disappointments  for  the  most  part  owe  their 
origin  to  this  fact,  that  human  effort  is  found  falling  short 
of  its  goal. 

The  path  of  life  runs  so  crooked  that  we  cannot  see 
around  the  curves.  Then  there  are  so  many  junctions  that 
the  time-tables  are  forever  getting  mixed  up. 

Under  these  circumstances  life  can  never  run  smoothly. 
There  will  be  trials  as  long  as  humanity  exists. 

The  mind  desires  ease,  and  only  so  much  exercise  as  is 
prompted  by  its  own  spontaneous  impulse.  When  it  is 
required  to  step  aside  from  the  path  of  its  own  preferences 
there  is  a  spiritual  resistance,  and  a  tendency  to  chafe  and 
fret.  These  little  tendencies  and  influences  are  what  we 
mean  by  the  trials  of  home. 

One  has  said,  "  It  may  not  seem  a  great  thing  to  have 
a  constantly  nagging  companion,  or  boots  that  always  hurt 
your  corns,  or  linen  that  is  never  properly  starched,  or  to 
have  to  read  crossed  letters,  or  go  to  stupid  parties,  or 

443 


Trials  of  Home. 

consult  books  without  indexes, —  but  to  the  sufferer  they 
are  very  tangible  oppressions,  and  in  our  short  space  of 
working  life  not  to  be  made  light  of." 

No  truer  words  were  ever  uttered.  Who  has  not  no- 
ticed the  almost  absolute  control  which  an  uneasy  boot  will 
sometimes  assert  over  the  whole  mind  ? 

A  sermon  to-day  may  sound  almost  divine  to  us  in  a 
pair  of  slippers,  but  yesterday,  in  a  pair  of  new  boots,  we 
should  have  regarded  the  same  sermon  as  intolerably 
stupid. 

A  star  actor,  if  thrown  suddenly  into  the  presence  of 
his  lady  love,  in  a  pair  of  overalls,  will  appear  awkward  in 
his  movements. 

How  fretful  we  sometimes  feel  when  we  are  hungry  ! 
A  baked  potato  will  produce  such  a  change  in  us  that  we 
hardly  know  ourselves.  The  toothache  has  been  known 
to  transform  in  half  an  hour  a  saint  into  a  sinner.  How 
quickly  will  music  calm  an  angry  child  ! 

"  The  trifles  of  our  daily  lives, 

The  common  things  scarce  worth  recall, 
Whereof  no  visible  trace  survives, 
These  are  the  mainsprings,  after  all. 
Destiny  is  not  without  thee,  but  within, 
Thyself  must  make  thyself. ' 

All  these  facts  only  show  what  a  powerful  influence 
little  things  may  have  over  us.  Our  lives  are  made  up  of 
moments,  and  the  character  of  each  moment  depends  upon 

444 


Trials  of  Home. 

the  influences  of  that  moment ;  and  it  requires  but  a  very 
small  influence  to  change  the  character  of  a  moment. 


/VLL  growth  is  but  a  perpetual  conquest  over  opposing 
^  forces.  There  can  be  no  growth,  physical,  intellec- 
tual, or  spiritual,  except  through  the  resistance  to  that  ele- 
ment in  which  it  grows.  It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that 
these  conquests  should  come  as  the  issue  of  great  efforts  or 
overwhelming  sorrows.  The  triumphs  of  life  are  those 
which  we  win  over  self,  and  these  are  won  on  little  battle- 
fields ;  in  the  kitchen,  in  the  nursery,  at  the  breakfast 
table,  on  Mondays  at  the  washtub,  in  the  stable  with  a 
fractious,  exasperating  horse,  in  the  field  with  the  cattle,  or 
amid  the  little  vexations  and  annoyances  of  every  day  ;  as 
the  breachy  sheep,  the  broken  mowing  machine,  or  the  dis- 
appointment of  a  rainy  day. 

It  is  by  trifles  like  these  that  human  souls  are  tested. 
In  overlooking  these  little  trials,  we  overlook  a  very 
important  principle  along  with  them.  It  is  that  principle 
which  distinguishes  the  effects  of  little  sorrows  from  those 
of  great  ones.  Simultaneously  with  the  great  sorrows 
there  is  developed  in  the  soul  a  power  of  heroic  endurance. 
Most  of  us  have  experienced  at  least  one  great  stroke  of 
grief,  one  which  we  had  contemplated  with  such  a  shrink- 
ing that  we  believed  it  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  stand 
up  beneath  its  weight  ;  but  when  the  blow  came  we  were 

445 


Trials  of  Home. 

surprised  at  our  own  heroic  calmness.  This  experience 
will  always  be  found  to  accompany  a  great  sorrow,  and 
serve  in  part  as  a  compensation.  This  arises  from  the 
sense  of  the  inevitable  which  always  accompanies  a  great 
stroke.  There  comes  over  every  one  in  the  moment  of 
utter  despair  a  feeling  that  approaches  to  satisfaction,  and 
so  strong  is  this  tendency  in  some  that  when  the  despair 
has  been  found  to  be  groundless,  there  has  actually  come 
with  the  first  instant  of  relief  a  wish  that  it  might  have 
been  otherwise,  that  one  might  have  seen  the  worst. 

The  testimony  of  Paul  du  Chaillu,  the  traveler,  con- 
cerning his  feelings  when  he  had  been  stricken  down  by  a 
lion  confirms  the  existence  of  this  principle  in  human 
nature.  He  expresses  his  feelings  as  those  of  perfect  satis- 
faction and  resignation  to  his  fate.  Edgar  Allan  Poe, 
with  his  almost  divine  intuition,  makes  one  of  the  charac- 
ters in  his  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom  experience  some- 
thing of  this  same  feeling. 

These  feelings,  of  course,  are  but  momentary  flashes  of 
insanity,  but  they  show  that  God  has  implanted  in  us  an 
instinctive  satisfaction  with  the  inevitable,  however  deeply 
it  may  involve  our  own  souls  in  pain  and  sorrow.  When 
one  refuses  to  be  reconciled  to  a  great  bereavement,  there 
is  still  in  his  heart  a  secret  feeling  of  rebellion.  It  may  be 
because  he  possesses  this  instinct  in  a  less  degree  than 
others,  since  all  the  instincts  of  human  nature  vary  in  dif- 
ferent individuals  ;  but  in  most  cases  it  will  be  found  that 

446 


Trials  of  Home. 

his  sorrow  is  superficial  and  does  not  take  hold  on  the 
depths  of  his  nature. 

IN  the  little  sorrows  of  life  this  principle  is  seldom 
manifested.  This  is  why  small  troubles  weigh  far 
more  heavily  upon  the  heart  in  proportion  to  their  magni- 
tude than  the  great  ones.  We  are  of  the  opinion,  however, 
that  it  was  the  divine  plan  that  this  principle  should  mani- 
fest itself  even  in  the  smallest  sorrows  and  trials  of  life, 
but  that  through  constant  rebellion  the  race  have  come  to 
that  condition  in  which  they  do  not  experience  it  except  in 
the  emergency  of  great  sorrow  or  danger. 

But  however  this  may  be,  the  cultivation  of  that 
instinct  in  us  can  do  no  harm,  and  if  we  can  so  cultivate 
and  develop  it  that  we  shall  feel  a  sense  of  acquiescence 
and  resignation  in  every  little  trial  of  our  lives,  till  the 
gnat  and  the  mosquito  shall  seem  to  us  to  have  rights  equal 
to  our  own,  we  have  surely  won  a  triumph  that  would 
become  an  angel's  crown. 

I  HIS,  then,  is  our  advice  to  those  who  are  weighed 
^  down  with  the  little  trials  of  life  :  cultivate  the 
instinct  of  resignation,  try  to  feel  satisfied  with  every  fate 
that  befalls  you.  This  is  not  an  impossible  task.  Your 
efforts  will  be  rewarded.  It  will  become  easier  and  easier 
for  you  to  attempt  to  do  it,  until  at  last  your  trials  will 
become  joys.  If  you  cannot  feel  that  God  ordained  your 

447 


Trials  of  Home. 

trials,  if  you  cannot  regard  them  as  a  part  of  the  infinite 
plan,  you  must  certainly  consider  them  as  the  just  penalty 
for  your  own  transgressions.  In  either  case  you  can  rea- 
son yourself  into  a  feeling  of  satisfaction. 

Little  sorrows,  like  the  great  ones,  are  disciplinary  in 
their  nature,  and  if  the  sufferer  does  not  degenerate  into  a 
fretful  and  irritable  being,  they  will  develop  his  spiritual 
health.  If  he  keeps  ever  in  mind  that  he  suffers  chiefly 
because  his  soul  is  divinely  receptive,  that  his  very  suffer- 
ing but  measures  his  spirit's  capacity  for  joy, —  his  char- 
acter will  in  the  end  blossom  forth  and  bear  fruits  all  the 
sweeter  for  the  trials. 

"  What's  the  use  of  always  fretting 

At  the  trials  we  shall  find 
Ever  strewn  along  our  pathway? 
Travel  on,  and  never  mind. 

"  Travel  onward,  working,  hoping, 
Cast  no  lingering  look  behind 
At  the  trials  once  encountered  ; 
Look  ahead,  and  never  mind. 

"  What  is  past,  is  past  forever  ; 

Let  all  fretting  be  resigned ; 
It  will  never  help  the  matter  — 
Do  your  best,  and  never  mind. 

"  And  if  those  who  might  befriend  you, 

Whom  the  ties  of  nature  bind, 
Should  refuse  to  do  their  duty, 
Look  to  heaven,  and  never  mind. 
448 


Trials  of  Home. 

Friendly  words  are  often  spoken 
When  the  feelings  are  unkind  ; 

Take  them  for  their  real  value, 
Pass  them  on,  and  never  mind. 

Fate  may  threaten,  clouds  may  lower, 
Enemies  may  be  combined  ; 

If  your  trust  in  God  is  steadfast, 
He  will  help  you, —  never  mind." 


449 


CHAPTER  FORTY-ONE. 


Sorro\v  and.  Its  Meaning. 


HETHER  sorrow  should  be  regarded  as  pos- 
sessing a  rightful  place  in  the  economy  of 
being,  or  simply  as  an  intruder,  for  whose 
stealthy  entrance  into  the  halls  of  joy  and  beauty  man 
is  wholly  responsible,  is  a  problem  which  many  regard  as 
.too  difficult  for  solution  by  finite  mind,  and  which  it  is 
blasphemy  to  attempt  to  solve. 

Yet  we  cannot  help  asking,  why  the  mighty  wail  of 
anguish  and  pain  that  goes  up  unceasingly  from  the  lips 
of  Nature  ?  Why  does  the  rose  conceal  a  thorn  ?  Why 
blossoms  the  loveliest  flower  just  where  the  deadly  night- 
shade distills  its  poison  dew  upon  its  snowy  petals  ?  Why 
are  the  heavens  deaf  to  the  cry  of  wounded  innocence  ? 
Why  are  the  fairest  and  the  loveliest  in  the  armies  of  the 
just  and  good  permitted  to  fall  like  withered  roses  before 
the  iron  hail  of  treason's  hosts  ?  Why  has  all  that  is 
good  and  lovely  in  human  history  been  bought  with  blood, 
while  virtue's  victorious  shout  is  preceded  by  the  martyr's 

shriek  ?    Can  an  agency  so  widespread  and  vast  in  its 

450 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

relations  as  that  of  pain  and  suffering  exist  in  nature,  and 
implicate  no  higher  instrumentality  than  human  folly  ? 

It  may  be  said  that,  since  all  suffering  comes  from  the 
breach  of  natural  law,  and  since  God  has  given  us  the  fac- 
ulty of  caution,  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  guard  against 
danger  and  accidental  suffering,  it  cannot  be  true  that  sor- 
row and  suffering  are  natural,  and  hence  divinely  sanc- 
tioned, but,  on  the  contrary,  they  must  owe  their  origin 
wholly  to  the  voluntary  action  of  man. 

But  God  has  given  us  no  faculty  by  which  we  can  pre- 
dict an  earthquake.  He  placed  us  upon  the  earth  before 
he  had  finished  it,  while  yet  his  engines  were  roaring,  and 
his  furnaces  glowing,  while  the  deadly  sparks  were  still 
flying  from  his  mighty  anvil. 

Now,  in  order  that  man  should  be  wholly  responsible 
for  pain  and  suffering,  he  should  have  faculties  sufficiently 
powerful  to  grasp  and  analyze  the  divine  plan,  so  that 
he  might  anticipate  and  make  provision  for  all  possible 
movements  in  the  universe.  The  fact  that  man  cannot 
thus  anticipate  the  changes  of  direction  in  the  universal 
movement  proves  danger  and  pain  and  sorrow  to  be  di- 
vinely appointed.  The  ant  cannot  anticipate  the  move- 
ment of  the  foot  that  steps  upon  its  little  mound. 

Is  it  not  possible,  after  all,  that  history,  with  all  its 
crimson  blots,  with  all  its  agony  uttered  and  unuttered, 
with  all  of  that  which  we  call  evil,  but  which  to  God  may 
be  but  a  necessary  and  momentary  discord  in  the  tuning  of 

453 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

being's  mighty  orchestra, —  is  it  not  possible  that  all  this, 
just  as  it  is,  constitutes  a  mighty  whole,  of  whose  sublime 
and  infinite  meaning  we  catch  as  yet  but  a  feeble  hint  ? 
Does  not  any  other  philosophy  necessarily  assign  to  the 
human  will  the  power  to  intercept  at  any  desired  point  the 
divine  plan  ?  Is  not  the  highest  and  grandest  philosophy, 
after  all,  that  which  lays  the  human  will  itself  in  the 
hands  of  God,  the  only  "  Uncaused  Cause,"  and  acknowl- 
edges the  indorsement  upon  the  parchment  of  human  his- 
tory of  him  who  holds  in  his  volition  the  potentialities  of 
all  that  is  or  has  been  ? 

Sorrow  and  pain  when  projected  into  the  atmosphere 
of  divine  and  eternal  significance  may  lose  the  superficial 
qualities  that  we  assign  to  them,  and  find  their  places  in 
the  "eternal  fitness  of  things." 

LxERHAPS,  if  we  could  see  creation  in  its  entirety,  and 
V^^  know  the  interrelations  of  its  myriad  parts,  we 
should  rejoice  over  that  which  now  causes  us  sorrow.  To 
us,  the  grandeur  of  the  ocean  is  marred  by  the  sight  of  a 
wreck,  but  to  him  who  holds  that  ocean  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hand,  the  wreck,  the  pale  lips,  and  the  despairing  cry 
may  be  necessary  to  the  expression  of  a  higher  and  grander 
meaning.  The  toad  sees  evil  and  only  evil  in  the  crushing 
wheel  of  the  fire-engine  as  it  flies  on  its  errand  of  good.  So 
we,  in  our  worm-like  ignorance  and  finitude  can  see  noth- 
ing but  evil  in  the  engines  of  sorrow  that  pass  over  our 

454 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

souls,  where  they  must  pass,  since  our  souls  lie  across  their 
path. 

The  universe  is  all  of  one  purpose,  "  so  compact"  that 
if  we  could  know  perfectly  any  nook  or  corner  we  should 
know  all,  for  the  awful  secret  of  the  Absolute  is  concealed 
in  every  finite  entity.  If  we  could  read  all  the  meaning 
there  is  in  a  single  strain  of  music,  we  could  translate 
the  infinite  harmonies  of  the  universe.  Could  we  tell  why 
an  atom  of  oxygen  prefers  an  atom  of  potassium  to  one  of 
gold  we  would  know  not  only  the  secret  of  love's  caprice, 
but  the  essence  of  the  Divine  Fatherhood. 

"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies  ;  — 
Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 
Little  flower, —  but  if  I  could  understand 
What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is." 


knowledge  cannot  reach  the  essence  of 
things.  We  cannot  know  our  dearest  friend,  only 
a  few  manifestations  of  him.  The  ulterior  essence  that 
makes  all  things  a  unit  we  can  never  know.  We  are  like 
insects  viewing  the  motions  of  a,  machine.  To  them  each 
wheel  moves  independently  and  from  its  own  caprice.  So 
we  regard  each  movement  in  the  universe  as  separate  and 
independent.  The  belts  and  bars  and  gears  by  which  each 

455 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

and  every  movement  is  linked  with  every  other  lie  beyond 
the  horizon  of  our  vision.  If  we  could  but  discern  the 
interrelations  of  things,  we  might  learn  that  the  grandest 
event  in  human  history  is  linked  in  sequential  relation 
with  the  flutter  of  an  insect's  wing,  and  that  the  annihila- 
tion of  an  atom  and  a  star  would  be  equal  catastrophes. 
Perchance  we  might  see,  in  the  ineffable  light  of  that 
awful  vision,  how  potential  joys  unspeakable  have  been 
bom  in  darkened  chambers ;  how  every  wreathed  casket 
bears  a  universal  ministry,  and  that 

"  The  brightest  rainbows  ever  play 
Above  the  fountains  of  our  tears." 

sorrow  has  a  more  obvious  ministry  than  that 
which  is  discerned  only  by  such  generalization.  If, 
then,  sorrow  is  a  natural  agency  ;  that  is,  if  we  have  been 
made  capable  of  sorrow,  and  then  placed  in  a  world  of 
danger  and  disaster  where  the  causes  of  sorrow  cannot  be 
anticipated,  surely  this  sorrow  and  affliction  must  have  an 
individual  ministry  commensurate  with  their  cost,  or  the 
wisdom  of  Him  who  ordained  it  is  implicated.  We  may 
rest  assured  that  sorrow  serves  some  purpose  in  the  econ- 
omy of  being,  as  definite  as  that  of  magnetism  and  light. 
We  cannot  reach  the  secret  of  its  deepest  meaning,  and 
yet  there  seems  to  be  within  us  a  spiritual  instinct  that 
seeks  to  justify  its  existence  and  to  find  in  it  a  ministry. 

456 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

11  The  gods  in  bounty  work  up  storms  about  us, 
That  give  mankind  occasion  to  exert 
Their  hidden  strength,  and  throw  ovit  into  practice 
Virtues  that  shun  the  day,  and  lie  concealed 
In  the  smooth  seasons  and  calms  of  life." 

Pain  and  sorrow  are  wasting  processes  of  the  soul,  just 
as  labor  is  a  wasting  process  of  the  muscles.  But  who 
does  not  know  that  this  very  waste  is  the  only  condition 
under  which  a  muscle  can  grow  strong  ?  If  you  wish  to 
strengthen  any  muscle,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  weary 
that  muscle  by  labor.  A  muscle  grows  strong  only  in  the 
process  of  recuperation,  the  act  of  recovering  a  loss.  It  is 
a  universal  law  of  Nature  that  every  loss  is  just  a  little 
more  than  repaid. 

Now  sorrow  is  the  labor  of  the  spirit.  It  is  the  instinc- 
tive struggle  of  the  spirit  against  the  effects  of  maladjust- 
ment, and  sustains  to  it  precisely  the  same  relation  that 
physical  labor  sustains  to  the  muscle.  Every  adult  soul 
that  has  never  known  a  pang  of  sorrow  has  long  since 
ceased  to  grow. 

It  is  true  that  the  soul  does  not  require  pain  with  that 
degree  of  regularity  with  which  the  muscles  require  labor, 
but  it  is  simply  because,  through  memory  and  reflection, 
the  influence  is  distributed.  A  single  great  stroke  of  sor- 
row will  often  soften,  subdue,  and  ripen  a  whole  life,  for, 
since  it  is  lived  over  and  over  again  in  the  silent  solitude 
of  thought,  it  becomes  lifelong  in  its  ministry.  Who  has 

457 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

not  read  this  sacred  ministry  of  sorrow  on  those  brows  of 
saintly  triumph, —  the  thrones  of  peace  ? 

We  have  not  yet,  it  is  true,  caught  the  divine  secret  of 
how  justice  is  maintained  in  the  unequal  distribution  of 
human  suffering. 

We  must,  at  once  and  forever,  abandon  the  idea  that  it 
can  be  found  along  the  narrow  line  of  individual  merit. 
The  world  has  sought  it  there  long  and  diligently,  and 
found  it  not. 

One  student  is  compelled  by  his  instructors  to  practice 
more  hours  a  day  in  a  gymnasium  than  another.  The 
practice  is  irksome,  and  the  other  is  allowed  to  sit  with 
folded  arms  in  smiling  complacency,  while  his  companion 
toils  at  the  rope  and  bar.  To  this  young  toiler  there 
could  be  nothing  more  unjust,  for,  like  most  students,  he 
does  not  look  forward  to  the  effects  of  the  discipline  to 
which  he  is  subjected.  And  yet  in  the  future  years  his 
proud  physique  and  glow  of  health  beside  his  friend's 
puny  form  and  pale  cheek  may  prove  that  the  injustice 
was  on  the  other  side.  There  may  not,  however,  be  injus- 
tice in  either  case. 

Perhaps  the  gymnasium  is  not  the  treatment  best 
adapted  to  the  weak  student.  Perhaps  his  constitution  is 
such  that  he  is  incapable  of  developing  a  strong  physique, 
and,  perhaps,  he  could  more  surely  reach  the  height  of  his 
physical  capacity  through  the  ministry  of  some  gentler 
exercise.  It  is  wisest  to  allow  the  physician  under  whose 

458 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

superintendence  he  is  placed  to  decide  these  questions. 
Perhaps,  again,  these  physicians  may  see  in  the  stronger 
student  the  germs  of  a  possible  ministry,  whose  fruition 
will  require  the  fullest  development  of  all  his  physical 
powers.  It  may  be  that  the  forces  of  creation  have  con- 
spired to  make  him  by  nature  a  performer  of  great  phys- 
ical deeds,  a  builder  of  bridges,  and  a  leveler  of  mountains, 
—  one,  at  sight  of  whose  mighty  achievements,  his  fellows 
will  bow  in  the  willing  acknowledgment  of  conscious 
inferiority.  All  these  conditions  and  qualifications  may 
have  been  discovered  by  those  having  charge  of  the  two 
students. 

Now  let  us  suppose  the  students  actually  incapable  of 
perceiving  the  reason  for  the  difference  in  treatment  to 
which  they  have  been  subjected.  They  cannot  understand 
that  the  purpose  which  nature  intended  them  to  serve  in 
the  economy  of  being  has  any  relation  whatever  to  this 
problem  of  justice  which  they  are  trying  to  solve. 

Does  not  this  illustration  cover  all  phases  of  the  great 
problem  of  human  sorrow  ?  Are  we  not  all  in  a  vast  gym- 
nasium, under  the  superintendence  of  One  who  not  only  is 
the  architect  of  the  gymnasium,  but  who  has  adapted  its 
every  appliance  to  the  requirements  of  our  spiritual  mus- 
cles ?  Every  obstacle  to  our  spiritual  progress,  every 
temptation,  every  pang  of  sorrow,  is  a  weight  or  a  cross- 
bar in  that  great  gymnasium,  and  we  in  our  infinitesimal 

knowledge  and  prescience  can  weigh  only  the  justice  or 

459 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

injustice  of  apparent  discrimination.  We  murmur  as  we 
bend  beneath  the  weight  of  grief,  and  bitterly  complain  as 
we  are  made  to  revolve  in  agonizing  contortions  around 
the  crossbar  of  adversity.  Yet  could  our  eyes  be  tempered 
to  the  light  of  an  universal  sun,  and  it  be  permitted  us  to 
pierce  the  starry  vistas  of  infinite  meaning,  with  one 
glance  through  the  lens  of  infinite  intelligence,  beneath 
the  burning  focus  of  that  lens  how  would  the  nebulous 
haze  burn  from  off  the  shining  disk  of  this  great  problem, 
Justice. 

LxERHAPS  the  divinest  ministry  of  bereavement  and 
<\ 
^ *  sorrow  is  seen  in  the  lofty  moods  that  grow  out  of 

it,  and  that  lift  the  soul  above  the  reach  of  its  own  disci- 
pline ;  till  it  can  stand  with  face  wreathed  in  the  smile  of 
peace,  subdued  and  tender  and  godlike,  while  with  never 
a  sigh  it  beholds  the  waves  of  desolation  sweep  over  its 
fondest  hopes.  Thousands  of  souls  have  been  educated  in 
sorrow's  school  till  they  were  able  to  do  this.  Almost  every 
one  has  experienced  certain  exalted  moods  in  which  he  has 
felt  himself  above  and  beyond  the  reach  of  all  outward 
conditions ;  and  clinging  to  the  one  fact  of  his  existence 
and  its  inward  relations,  he  has  felt  that  he  could  smile  at 
every  possible  catastrophe.  It  is  sorrow  alone  that  gives 
us  the  capacity  for  this,  the  divinest  of  moods. 

How  weak  and  useless  are  those   ''pulpy  souls"  that 

never  have    known   affliction !      Such    are  the  ones  that 

460 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

cover  their  faces  and  flee  from  the  scene  of  suffering. 
They  are  the  feeble  characters  that  tremble  and  fall  when 
shaken  by  great  emergencies.  But  who  are  they  that 
stand  calmly  and  firmly  against  the  fiercest  charge  of  cal- 
umny ?  It  is  they  who  know  the  meaning  of  midnight 
watching  and  buried  hope.  It  is  they  who  have  put  the 
cup  of  sorrow  to  their  lips  and  held  it  there  till  they  have 
drained  the  bitter  dregs. 

"  The  grape  must  be  crushed  before 

Can  be  gathered  the  glorious  wine  ; 
So  the  poet's  heart  must  be  wrung  to  the  core 
Ere  his  song  can  be  divine." 

We  cannot  doubt  that  every  pang,  every  disappoint- 
ment, every  blinding  stroke  of  grief,  holds  in  potentiality 
a  blessing  that  in  some  way  follows  a  law  analogous  to 
that  physical  law  of  recuperation  by  which  wasting,  wea- 
rying toil  ministers  to  muscular  strength.  The  blessing 
may  not  always  be  immediate  and  visible,  it  may  not, 
indeed,  always  be  to  our  own  selfish  selves,  but  somewhere 
in  eternity  to  the  sum  of  all  being.  It  would  be  impious 
to  attempt  to'  trace  its  divinely  appointed  course.  It  may 
require  eternity  to  solve  the  problem  of  a  blighted  hope. 
We  are  silent  when  they  ask  us  to  point  out  the  hidden 
blessing  in  war's  dread  scourge  ;  or  when  the  scorpion  lash 
of  pestilence  smites  the  back  of  dying  Memphis  ;  or  when 

the  brilliant  footlights  with  fiery  fingers  have  caressed  the 

461 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

oily  scenery  and  the  public  hall  becomes  a  tomb  for 
charred  and  unknown  corpses.  We  are  staggered  by  the 
awful  mystery  when  the  light-hearted  girl  steps  from  out 
the  merry  throng,  and  reappears  in  sable  drapery  with  a 
story  on  her  brow.  It  requires  a  quick  ear  to  catch  the 
secret  from  the  frozen  lips  of  death,  when  the  fair  youth 
who  but  yesterday  plucked  the  wild  roses  to  twine  in 
golden  hair,  comes  to-day  to  those  same  woodland  haunts 
to  gather  roses  for  love's  speechless  tribute,  that  he  may 
lay  them  on  the  pulseless  bosom  of  the  maiden  he  adores. 
But  notwithstanding  all  this,  we  cannot  resist  the  con- 
viction, which  comes  to  us  with  the  force  of  an  instinct, 
that  sorrow  is  a  natural  phenomenon  and  bears  the 
indorsement  of  the  divine  hand.  How  else  can  we  explain 
the  philosophy  of  that  instinctive  acquiescence  in  the  inev- 
itable, of  which  we  have  spoken  in  the  preceding  chapter  ? 
Why,  when  the  shadow  of  the  angel's  wing  falls  on  the 
face  of  one  we  love,  do  we  almost  instinctively  turn  to  the 
physician  to  learn  if  no  power  could  have  saved  ?  And 
why  that  sigh  of  relief  when  he  assures  us  that  the  result 
could  not  have  been  otherwise  ?  The  inevitableness  of  a 
friend's  death  will  partially  reconcile  us  to  our  bereave- 
ment. When  one  knows  that  he  must  die,  he  is  usually 
calm  and  resigned,  but  he  is  wild  while  there  is  hope.  Why 
is  this  ?  Why  does  utter  despair  always  give  birth  to 
calmness  and  resignation  ?  Is  it  not  a  hint  from  the  infal- 
lible book  of  human  instinct,  that  whatever  may  be  true  of 

462 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

moral  accountability  and  free  agency,  it  is  not  inconsistent 
with  a  higher  and  grander  truth  that,  in  the  infinite  alti- 
tude of  divine  meaning,  "Whatever  is,  is  right"  ? 

We  cannot  see  the  purpose  that  is  subserved  in  the  uni- 
versal economy  by  the  poisonous  plant,  by  thorn  and  sting, 
and  deadly  fang,  yet  the  highest  philosophy  assigns  to 
them  a  consistent  meaning,  even  while  it  acknowledges 
that  meaning  to  be  above  and  beyond  the  proudest  effort 
of  human  analysis.  I  cannot  say  that  I  ought  not  to  suf- 
fer, till  I  am  able  to  analyze  every  relation  of  my  being. 
This  I  can  never  do.  I  cannot  find  in  the  great  machine 
a  single  gearing  by  which  one  wheel  is  connected  with 
another. 

"  Yet  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs, 

And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of  the  suns." 

Is  it  not  possible,  nay,  probable,  that  the  same  great 
principle  in  the  universe  which  creates  the  deadly  night- 
shade, and  arms  the  insect  with  a  fatal  gland,  also  arms 
even  ignorance  with  that  which  slays  the  objects  of  our 
fondest  love  ? 

The  mother  who  bends  over  a  little  casket  to  leave  her 
triune  gift  of  roses,  tears,  and  kisses  upon  lips  that  never 
more  will  lisp  her  name,  may  yet  perceive,  in  the  light  of 
a  higher  revelation,  that  though  the  rose-wreathed  casket 
bears  the  ashes  of  her  cherished  hopes,  it  is  al  ~»  ministrant 
to  a  need  she  knows  not  of. 

463 


Sorrow  and  Its  Meaning. 

11  Who  knows  of  this  inward  life  of  ours  ? 

Of  the  pangs  with  which  each  joy  is  born  ? 
Who  dreams  of  poison  among  the  flowers, 
Or  sees  the  wound  from  the  hidden  thorn, 
O'er  which  we  smile  when  most  forlorn  ? 

"  Who  knows  that  the  change  from  grave  to  gay 

Was  wrought  by  the  deadly  pain  we  bore, 
As  we  lay  the  hopes  of  years  away, 

Like  withered  roses,  to  bloorn  no  more 
Upon  life's  desolated  shore  ? 

"  Who  knows,  as  we  tread  these  careless  ways, 

That  we  think  of  our  sainted  dead  the  while 
That  the  heart  grows  sick,  in  summer  days, 
For  a  blessed  mother's  tender  smile, 
That  held  no  taint  of  worldly  guile  ? 

1 
"  Who  knows  of  the  tremulous  chords  of  love, 

To  the  lightest  touch  that  vibrate  still, 
As  under  her  wing  the  stricken  doye 
Unmurmuring  folds  —  although  it  kill  — 
The  cruel  mark  of  the  archer's  skill  ?  " 


464 


CHAPTER  FORTY-TWO. 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 


i  I       Th: 

—M.          arp 


HIS  is  a  theme  from  which  we  all  naturally  shrink. 
This  chapter  may  be  the  least  read  of  all,  but  if  we 


/j  I 

— •—    are  to    complete  the  cycle  of    home   experiences 
bereavement  must  not  be  ignored. 

Bereavement  is  no  respecter  of  persons  :  wealth  can- 
not ward  it  off  and  poverty  is  shown  no  favoritism ;  it  is 
the  one  experience  common  to  all  homes.  It  may  come 
early  or  it  may  be  late  in  its  coming  ;  but  come  it  will. 
The  rich  and  the  poor,  the  educated  and  the  uncultured, 
are  here  upon  a  common  level  and  may  clasp  hands  in 
mutual  sympathy. 

One  of  the  things  which  common  prudence  would 
seem  to  dictate  is  the  selection  of  a  suitable  place  of  burial 
before  the  time  of  bereavement  comes.  For  those  who  are 
unsettled  in  their  place  of  residence,  who  are  moving  from 
place  to  place,  this  may  not  seem  best,  and  yet  for  even 
them  there  ought  to  be  one  spot  on  earth  toward  which,  in 
ihe  midst  of  wanderings,  the  heart  may  naturally  turn  as 
the  last  earthly  resting  place  of  the  body. 

465 


t 

Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

And  for  those  who  are  settled  in  their  place  of  abode 
there  is  surely  no  valid  excuse  for  not  giving  early  atten- 
tion to  this  important  matter. 

Let  us  suppose  it  is  the  husband  who  is  taken  away. 
The  grief-stricken  wife  is  compelled  within  the  space  of  a 
few  hours  to  see  that  arrangements  are  made  for  the  serv- 
ice. The  funeral  director  must  be  selected,  the  relatives 
notified,  and  the  officiating  clergyman  engaged.  When  to 
this  there  is  added  the  necessity  of  selecting  a  place  of 
burial  it  is  almost  more  than  the  bleeding  heart  can  bear. 
Quite  likely  the  lot  will  afterwards  be  found  unsatisfac- 
tory, either  not  large  enough  or  not  in  a  desirable  location. 
The  benumbed  brain  cannot  think  clearly  andx  is  in  no  con- 
dition to  "  transact  business "  in  this  time  of  grief. 

How  much  better  if  husband  and  wife  had  gone  to- 
gether to  the  cemetery  on  some  summer  day,  looked  the 
place  over,  and  calmly  made  a  selection  of  the  spot  where 
they  and  their  children  might  at  last  rest  side  by  side. 
The  business  could  then  be  transacted  with  due  delibera- 
tion and  would  not  obtrude  itself  in  the  dark  hour  of 
parting. 

The  talking  over  and  settling  of  such  matters  will  but 
bind  the  hearts  the  more  closely  together.  Whichever  is 
taken  first  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  the  one  remaining  to 
know  that  the  place  of  burial  was  the  choice  of  the  de- 
parted. Probably  a  foolish  superstition  deters  some  from 
doing  this  Which  reason  commends.  But  the  day  of  death 

466 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

will  not  be  hastened  one  hour  by  selecting  the  place  of 
burial,  nor  will  improvident  or  superstitious  neglect  delay 
the  sad  event. 

\  A  f  E  might  go  farther  and  say  that,  as  the  choice  of  a 
"^  family  physician  should  not  be  left  until  the  time  of 
sickness,  so  the  selection  of  the  one  who  is  to  have  the 
preparation  of  the  remains  for  burial  and  the  directing  of 
the  service  should  not  be  delayed  until  death  has  invaded 
the  home.  Dr.  Theodore  L.  Cuyler,  in  speaking  upon 
Christ's  words,  "  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn,"  once  said  : 
"We  take  this  sweet  little  text  into  sick  rooms,  or  to 
funerals,  or  into  the  lonely  groups  which  gather  around  a 
mother's  deserted  chair  or  a  little  empty  crib.  It  was 
meant  for  them.  It  has  fallen  upon  such  stricken  hearts 
like  the  gentle  rain  upon  the  new  mown  grass.  Many  of 
us  know  full  well  how  good  the  balm  felt  when  it  touched 
our  bruised  and  bleeding  hearts.  I  remember  how,  when 
one  of  rny  own  '  bairns  '  was  lying  in  his  fresh  made  grave, 
and  another  one  was  so  low  that  her  crib  seemed  to  touch 
against  a  tomb,  I  used  to  keep  murmuring  over  to  myself 
Wesley's  matchless  lines, 

'  Leave,  oh  leave  me  not  alone, 
Still  support  and  comfort  me.' 

"  In  those  days  I  was  learning  just  how  the  arrow  feels 
when  it  enters,  and  just  how  to  sympathize  with    other 

467 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

people  in  their  bereavements.  Somehow  one  is  never  fully 
ready  to  emit  the  fragrance  of  sympathy  for  others  until 
he  has  been  bruised  himself." 

It  may  sometimes  make  us  a  little  stronger  to  bear 
pain  and  loss  if  we  remember  that  in  the  school  of  suffer- 
ing God  is  training  comforters.  There  is  grief  which  is 
selfish  but  in  general  suffering  is  an  antidote  for  selfish- 
ness. When  we  have  learned  the  lesson  let  us  not  fail  to 
put  it  to  use.  And  even  while  we  are  learning  we  may  put 
it  in  practice.  It  is  one  of  the  seeming  paradoxes  of  life 
that  we  best  bear  our  trials  by  helping  others  to  bear 
theirs.  Our  burdens  are  lightened  by  taking  on  those  of 
others. 


I  HERE  is  an  old  Scottish  story  that  one  day,  in  a  great 
^  battle,  the  chief  of  one  of  the  powerful  clans  of  the 
Highlands  fell  back  and  lay  on  his  side.  The  blood  ebbed 
from  him,  and  his  clansmen  thought  he  was  killed,  and 
began  to  fall  back  disheartened.  Raising  himself,  with 
blood  flowing  upon  the  green  turf  where  he  had  fallen  with 
face  to  the  foe,  he  cried,  "Macdonald,  I  am  not  dead  but 
am  watching  how  my  clansmen  fight."  They  closed  up  the 
ranks  and  dashed  on  to  victory. 

When  our  dear  ones  fall  from  the  ranks  our  first  im- 
pulse is  to  give  up  in  despair.  How  can  we  again  take  up 
the  daily  routine  of  life's  duties  ?  How  can  we  meet  the 

468 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

hurrying,  heartless  world  which  cares  so  little  for  our 
grief  ?  We  would  gladly  shut  ourselves  in  and  be  alone 
with  the  memory  of  the  dead.  But  if  this  is  indulged 
there  is  danger  of  drifting  into  a  state  of  bitter  melan- 
choly where  the  soul  lives  in  the  shadows  and  even  spreads 
its  gloom  over  other  lives. 

It  seems  a  harsh  thing  to  say  but  those  are  fortunate 
who  are  so  situated  that  they  cannot  indulge  this  im- 
pulse. It  is  best  that  we  should  take  up  again  the  daily 
tasks.  This  is  a  working  world  and  toil  is  not  an  enemy 
but  a  friend  whose  hand  though  rough  to  the  touch  is  both 
gentle  and  strong.  And  there  is  n6t  only  our  own  work  to 
be  resumed  but  also  the  unfinished  work  of  the  departed  to 
be  carried  on.  Here  are  business  interests  of  husband  or 
father  or  brother.  He  had  plans  which  he  was  working 
out ;  how  better  can  you  honor  him  than  by  completing 
them  ?  His  work  must  not  go  for  naught.  Here  are  lines 
of  benevolence  in  which  he  was  a  devoted  worker.  Shall 
the  benefaction  stop  now  that  he  is  gone  ?  Or  it  may  be 
that  the  worker  among  the  suffering  and  sorrowing,  the 
needy  and  friendless,  was  mother  or  wife  or  daughter. 
Shall  the  work  cease  now  that  her  hands  are  folded  to  rest  ? 
The  world  needed  her.  She  is  gone.  We  honor  her  most 
not  by  nursing  our  grief  in  solitude  but  by  going  forth  to 
continue  her  unfinished  work.  We  can  rear  no  nobler 
monument  than  this.  The  loved  one  fell  in  the  midst  of 
the  battle  ;  our  love  will  best  be  shown  by  pressing  on  to 

469 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

victory  in  the  cause  which  was  so  near  to  the  heart  of  the 
one  who  has  been  called  away. 

I N  bereavement  we  are  comforted  by  contemplating  the 
past  and  the  future.  Memory  and  hope  help  to  bear 
the  burden  of  the  present.  The  words  and  deeds  of  loved 
ones  are  a  priceless  heritage.  They  are  treasures  which  we 
may  give  to  others  and  still  possess  them  more  truly  than 
ever.  Let  us  not  be  pained,  however,  if  others  do  not  prize 
them  as  highly  as  we.  These  are  our  special  possession. 
But  even  better  than  telling  them  to  others  is  the  living 
over  again  in  our  personal  lives  what  loved  ones  said  and 
did.  Their  example  is  then  perpetuated,  not  by  being 
recorded  in  books  but  by  being  translated  into  daily  deeds. 
The  other  help  is  hope.  It  is  not  the  purpose  to  dis- 
cuss in  this  chapter  the  future  life,  but  bereavement  brings 
the  things  of  the  future  so  near  and  the  heart  questions  are 
so  spontaneous  and  persistent  that  we  cannot  pass  them  in 
silence.  We  shall  not  lose  our  own  identity  in  the  future 
life.  The  same  faculty  which  enables  us  to  identify  our- 
selves will  enable  us  to  identify  others.  Memory  will  not 
have  been  obliterated  else  we  shall  be  something  less  there 
than  here.  Memory  will  insure  recognition.  Old  friends 
are  the  greatest  joy  of  a  new  country.  Fellowship  was  one 
of  the  most  fundamental  characteristics  of  the  early  Chris- 
tian church.  If  it  is  only  for  earth  there  is  a  strange 
incompleteness.  We  are  born  as  social  beings  and  it  is 

470 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

inconceivable  that  one  of  the  prime  elements  of  our  nature 
should  be  destroyed.  The  social  instinct  always  works 
along  the  line  of  affinity.  For  whom  will  we  have  greater 
affinity  than  for  those  we  have  loved  here  ?  The  words  of 
Christ  put  this  question  of  recognition  forever  at  rest.  "In 
my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions :  if  it  were  not  so, 
1  would  have  told  you.  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you." 
Two  words,  "  Father's  house,"  give  us  the  picture  of  the 
family,  of  home  with  its  attendant  blessings  of  recognition, 
fellowship,  affection.  After  entering  upon  his  public 
ministry,  Christ  was  homeless.  His  first  miracle  was 
performed  at  the  founding  of  a  home,  at  the  marriage 
in  Cana  of  Galilee.  "  Father's  house  "  meant  much  to  him 
and  he  prayed,  "  Father,  I  will  that  they  also,  whom  thou 
hast  given  me,  be  with  me  where  I  am."  He  looks  for- 
ward to  their  fellowship  with  him  and  with  each  other  in 
the  "Father's  house."  This  we  have  said  simply  to  show 
that  hope  is  a  help  in  the  time  of  bereavement.  We  care 
not  to  intrude  into  that  which  has  not  been  revealed,  but 
that  we  shall  know  each  other  there  seems  to  admit  of  no 
more  doubt  than  that  we  shall  know  each  other  here  a  few 
years  hence. 

t£  is  God's  gift  and  we  must  prize  it  and  improve  it 
as  such.     Nor  should  we  be  unready  to  relinquish 
it  at  his  call  that  we  may  take  something  better.     Better  ? 
Yes,  far  better.     Observe  the  butterfly  apparently  floating 

471 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

on  the  sunbeam  from  flower  to  flower  —  the  sweet  picture 
of  freedom.  Sometimes  the  breeze  catches  it  but  it  simply 
poises  itself  so  as  to  be  wafted  higher.  Once  it  was  a  poor 
creeping  thing,  a  creature  of  untoward  circumstances,  lia- 
ble to  be  spurned  or  killed  by  any  passer-by.  Ask  it  which 
is  better,  to  be  obliged  to  slowly  creep  and  crawl  or  to 
float  and  fly  ?  I  have  watched  the  waters  as  they  lay 
imprisoned  in  a  mountain  pool.  They  could  only  mirror 
the  towering  peaks.  It  was  a  narrow,  circumscribed  life. 
But  the  morning  sun  looked  over  the  mountain  tops, 
chased  away  the  shadows,  and  stooping  kissed  the  pool. 
One  and  another  of  the  drops  bade  good-by  to  its  compan- 
ion and  rose  in  response  to  the  kiss  and  call  of  the  sun. 
The  drops  gathered  in  cloud  groups,  rose  far  above  the 
mountain  peaks  they  had  helped  to  mirror,  and  sailed  away 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  to  renew  their  life  in  transfig- 
ured beauty.  And  this  was  better,  far  better. 


rVGAIN  we  need  to  be  reminded  that  our  grief  is  some- 
^  times  selfish.  In  our  bereavement  we  are  likely  to 
think  only  of  our  loss  and  forget  what  the  loved  one  has 
gained.  There  has  been  a  life  of  toil  and  trouble  here, 
days  were  filled  with  the  ceaseless  round  of  little  tasks, 
and  the  nights  brought  little  rest.  But  at  last  "  He  giveth 
his  beloved  sleep." 

472 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

' '  He  sees  when  their  footsteps  falter, 

When  their  hearts  grow  weak  and  faint ; 
He  marks  when  their  steps  are  failing, 

And  listens  to  each  complaint ; 
He  bids  them  rest  for  a  season , 

For  the  pathway  has  grown  too  steep ; 
And,  folded  in  fair  green  pastures, 

He  giveth  his  loved  ones  sleep. 

"  Like  weary  and  worn-out  children 

That  sigh  for  the  daylight's  close, 
He  knows  that  they  oft  are  longing 

For  home  and  its  sweet  repose  ; 
So  he  calls  them  in  from  their  labors 

Ere  the  shadows  round  them  creep ; 
And  silently  watching  o'er  them 

He  giveth  his  loved  ones  sleep. 

"  He  giveth  it,  oh,  so  gently, 

As  a  mother  will  fold  to  rest 
The  babe  that  she  softly  pillows 

So  tenderly  on  her  breast. 
Forgotten  are  now  the  trials 

And  sorrows  that  make  them  weep ; 
For  with  many  a  soothing  promise 

He  giveth  his  loved  ones  sleep. 

"  All  dread  of  the  distant  future, 
All  fears  that  oppress  to-day, 
Like  mists  that  clear  in  the  sunlight, 

Have  noiselessly  passed  away. 
Nor  call,  nor  clamor,  can  rouse  them 
From  slumber  so  pure  and  deep, 
473 


Bereavement  in  the  Home. 

For  only  his  voice  can  reach  them, 
Who  giveth  his  loved  ones  sleep. 

"  Weep  not  that  their  toils  are  over, 

Weep  not  that  their  race  is  run  ; 
God  grant  we  may,  rest  as  calmly, 

When  our  work,  like  theirs,  is  done. 
Till  then  we  yield  with  gladness 

These  treasures  to  him  to  keep  ; 
And  rejoice  in  the  blest  assurance, 

He  giveth  his  loved  ones  sleep." 

"To  bind  up  the  broken  hearted  "  was  one  phase  of 
the  Saviour's  work.  Anyone  who  has  been  wounded 
knows  what  a  relief  it  is  to  have  the  flesh  drawn  together 
and  bound  up,  thus  excluding  the  air  and  relieving  the 
strain  upon  the  lacerated  muscles  and  nerves.  The  hurt  is 
not  gone,  the  wound  is  not  yet  healed,  but  the  binding  up 
helps  so  much.  The  world  can  never  too  highly  praise  the 
workers  of  the  Red  Cross  Society,  who  have  braved  battle 
and  pestilence  to  minister  to  the  suffering.  They  have 
been  doing  the  work  of  their  Master.  But  there  is  only 
One  who  can  bind  up  broken  hearts.  He  comes  with  the 
bands  of  his  power  and  the  balm  of  his  love.  He  was  once 
the  "  Man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief,"  and 
knows  every  heart  pang. 

"  When  other  helpers  fail  and  comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  oh,  abide  with  me  !  " 
474 


CHAPTER   FORTY-THREE. 

The  \Vido\v's  Home, 


WORK  treating  of  home  and  the  various  phases 
of  the  home  life  could  not  be  considered  com- 
plete, were  no  chapter  devoted  to  the  widow's 
home.  For  the  widow's  home  finds  its  justification  in  the 
normal  and  primitive  constitution  of  things,  as  proved  by 
the  undisputed  facts  that  marriage  is  an  institution  of  na- 
ture, and  that  no  organic  law  demands  the  simultaneous 
dissolution  of  husband  and  wife.  Indeed,  such  a  coinci- 
dence is  of  remarkably  rare  occurrence. 

Widowhood,  then,  is  an  ordinance  of  nature,  and  per- 
haps the  strongest  evidence  that  sorrow  holds  a  rightful 
place  in  the  universal  economy  is  to  be  found  in  this  fact. 

If,  then,  widowhood  is  inevitable,  it  seems  right  that 
provision  should  be  made  for  its  possible  occurrence,  at 
least,  in  so  far  as  occasional  and  wholesome  contemplation 
can  so  dispose  our  minds  that  the  dark  angel  cannot  come 
to  us  or  ours  by  absolute  surprise.  We  do  not  mean  by 
this  that  husbands  and  wives  should  perpetually  dwell 
upon  the  possible  catastrophe  of  each  other's  death.  This 

would  be  entirely  unnatural.     Indeed,  nothing  so  surely 

475 


The  Widow*s  Home. 

indicates  a  morbid  condition  of  the  whole  being  as  a  con- 
stant tendency  to  dwell  upon  the  possible  death  of  our- 
selves or  our  friends.  It  indicates  a  disordered  state  of  the 
nerves  to  be  unable  to  sleep  in  consequence  of  a  constant 
dread  of  fire.  And  yet  it  is  surely  the  duty  of  all  to  make 
due  provisions  for  such  a  catastrophe  by  way  of  fire- 
escapes.  So  while  we  should  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  in 
constant  dread  of  bereavement,  we  should  in  our  thought 
and  meditation  frequently  acknowledge  to  ourselves  the 
possibility  of  such  an  event,  with  an  effort  to  realize  that 
which  we  acknowledge.  In  this  way  we  may  prepare  our- 
selves for  almost  any  affliction,  so  that  when  the  alarm 
comes  we  may  not  be  suffocated  and  bewildered  in  the 
blinding  smoke  of  our  own  grief. 

5UT  the  liabilities  to  widowhood  impose  the  duty  of  a 
more  substantial  provision.  This  affliction  falls 
most  heavily  upon  her  who  has  leaned  with  the  most  child- 
like dependence  upon  the  support  of  her  husband.  It  is, 
perhaps,  natural  for  woman  to  look  to  her  husband  for  sup- 
port and  protection,  but  that  complete  surrender  of  her 
individuality  which  makes  her  a  mere  household  pet  is  to 
be  condemned,  not  only  as  unnatural,  but  as  a  sin  against 
herself  and  society. 

Those  who  wear  the  badge  of  widowhood  with  the 
most  heroic  fortitude  are  those  who,  in  the  stern  battle  of 
life,  have  stood  abreast  with  their  husbands,  who  have 

476 


The  Widow's  Home. 

never  shirked  the  noble  responsibility  of  womanhood, 
wifehood,  arid  motherhood.  When  the  fearful  summons 
came  that  left  them  to  fight  alone,  it  found  them  with 
weapon  in  hand.  And  it  was  then  that  the  glory  and 
majesty  of  their  womanhood  shone  through  a  veil  of  tears 
with  a  beauty  that  was  divine. 

It  is  not  the  bereavement  alone  that  lends  sadness  to 
the  thoughts  of  widowhood,  but  it  is  the  fact  of  added 
responsibility.  There  are  often  young  children  dependent 
upon  their  sorrowing  mother,  and  no  matter  how  nobly 
that  mother  may  have  performed  her  part  in  the  conflict  of 
life,  in  the  present  conditions  of  society  there  are  few  in 
whose  homes  would  not  be  felt  the  sudden  interruption 
and  suspension  of  the  husband's  vocation,  though  it  were 
preceded  by  years  of  industry  and  economy. 

It  requires  something  of  a  fortune,  at  least  more  than 
most  men  possess,  in  order  that  the  annuity  alone  may  be 
sufficient  to  maintain  the  home,  and  to  feed,  clothe,  and 
educate  a  family  of  children  ;  so  that  some  form  of  re- 
munerative labor  often  becomes  necessary  even  for  the 
mother.  And  this  adds  to  the  sadness  of  the  scene,  for  if 
there  is  a  scene  on  earth  that  is  sad,  it  is  that  of  grief 
struggling  in  the  toils  of  want. 

But  we  would  not  be  understood  to  mean  that  the 
widow's  home  is  always  and  necessarily  the  scene  of  want, 
for  it  is  not  always,  by  any  means,  that  there  is  a  family  of 
young  children  dependent  on  the  mother's  efforts  for  the 

477 


Ttie  Widow's  Home. 

supply  of  all  their  varied  needs.  It  is,  perhaps,  as  often 
that  the  children  are  able  to  support  themselves  and  their 
mother.  Nor  is  the  widow's  home  ever  the  abode  of  unmit- 
igated sorrow.  We  cannot,  it  is  true,  from  the  very  nature 
of  the  case,  eliminate  sorrow  from  the  widow's  home,  yet 
God  has  so  constituted  the  human  heart  that  even  amid 
the  darkest  scenes  of  sorrow  and  affliction  there  come  to 
it  hours  of  mirth  and  joy.  And,  perhaps,  the  widow's 
home,  where  the  necessary  conditions  of  love  and  confi- 
dence exist,  is  not  less  potent  in  its  formative  influences 
upon  character  than  those  homes  where  sorrow  has  never 
come. 

There  is  something  beautiful  as  well  as  pathetic  in  the 
family  scene  where  loving  children  recognize  mother  as 
the  head.  The  sons  and  daughters  who  come  from  families 
of  this  kind  are  usually  noble  and  generous.  They  have 
learned  to  be  unselfish  not  only  from  the  heroic  discipline 
of  their  own  lot,  but  from  the  tireless  example  of  a  mothers 
denial  and  self-sacrifice,  qualities  which  belong  emphat- 
ically to  the  widowed  mother. 

The  angelic  qualities  of  a  mother's  love  never  fully 
reveal  themselves  till  the  wand  of  sorrow  touches  her  heart 
and  writes  a  story  on  her  brow. 

"Arise  and  all  thy  tasks  fulfill, 

And  as  thy  day  thy  strength  shall  be ; 
Were  there  no  power  beyond  the  ill, 
The  ill  could  not  have  come  to  thee. 
478 


The  Widow's  Home. 

Though  cloud  and  storm  encompass  thee 

Be  not  afflicted  nor  afraid  ; 
Thou  knowest  the  shadow  could  not  be 

Were  there  no  sun  beyond  the  shade. 

For  thy  beloved,  dead  and  gone, 
Let  sweet,  not  bitter,  tears  be  shed  ; 

Nor  '  open  thy  dark  saying  on 

The  harp,'  as  though  thy  faith  were  dead. 


479 


CHAPTER  FORTY-FOUR. 


Homeless  Orphans, 


TEL 
I    i 


ELL  me,  homeless  wanderer,  tell  me, 

For  the  storm  is  growing  wild, 
What  sad  fortune  hath  befell  thee  ; 

Art  thou  some  lone  orphan  child, 
Wandering,  while  the  dismal  tempest 

Breathes  its  low  and  fearful  tone, 
And  the  cheerful  fire  is  glowing 

Bright  in  many  a  cheerful  home? 
"  Ah,  my  friend,  no  kindly  welcome 

Greets  me  on  this  desert  wild  ; 
Others  have  their  homes  and  firesides, 

But  I  am  nobody's  child. 

"  For  my  fate  no  heart  is  beating, 

And  my  grief  no  eye  can  see  ; 
Others  meet  their  cheerful  greeting, 

But  nobody  cares  for  me. 
Words  of  love,  and  pleasant  faces, 

Thoughts  of  mercy,  voices  mild, 
Ne'er  my  hapless  lot  embraces, 

For  I  am  nobody's  child. 
*         *         #         *         *    _      *         * 
480 


Homeless  Orphans. 

"  But  I've  heard,  or  dreamed  I  heard  it, 

Of  '  Our  Father '  in  the  skies  ; 
Will  he  mark  the  lonely  dwelling 

Where  my  worthless  body  lies? 
Will  he,  from  his  home  above  me, 
Write  the  names  of  those  who  love  me, 
O'er  my  grave,  in  letters  wild, 
Will  he  trace  Nobody's  Child?  " 

I  HE  word  orphan  is  one  of  the  saddest  in  human  lan- 
^  guage.  It  is  a  word  at  sound  of  which  the  gayest 
hearts  are  sad.  It  brings  to  our  minds  a  lone  wanderer 
who  finds  no  object  on  earth  to  evoke  a  smile.  When  the 
child  that  has  a  happy  home  and  loving  parents  imagines 
himself  deprived  of  them,  he  experiences  an  oppressive 
feeling  that  may  be  likened  to  that  of  suffocation.  It  is 
probable,  however,  that  the  actual  suffering  of  the  home- 
less is  far  less  than  one  would  naturally  suppose,  for  that 
principle  in  us  which  tends  to  make  us  satisfied  with  the 
inevitable  doubtless  asserts  itself  here. 

When  we  look  upon  the  cripple  who  is  obliged  to  sub- 
stitute a  wooden  crutch  for  a  leg,  our  hearts  are  moved  to 
pity,  and  we  feel  that  in  some  way  we  owe  him  something. 
We  cannot  feel  at  ease  when  we  look  upon  him,  while  we 
ourselves  enjoy  the  free  use  of  our  limbs.  But  the  cripple 
himself  has  no  such  feelings.  He  feels  that  the  wooden 
crutch  is  his  other  leg,  and  he  in  turn  pities  his  unfortu- 
nate neighbor  who  has  lost  both  limbs.  And  so  it  is  with 

481 


Homeless  Orphans. 

life.  He  who  dwells  in  a  palace  pities  him  who  dwells  in 
a  cottage,  and  he  in  turn  pities  him  who  dwells  in  a  hovel. 
In  the  working  of  this  principle  may  be  discerned  that  law 
of  compensation  which  underlies  all  human  affairs. 

But  this  fact  does  not  justify  selfishness  nor  allow  us  to 
neglect  the  rights  of  the  unfortunate.  For  in  spite  of  all 
compensatory  tendencies  the  world  is  full  of  suffering. 
The  air  is  rent  at  noonday  and  at  midnight  with  the 
wails  of  sorrow  and  the  shrieks  of  agony.  What  if  every 
wave  of  sound  around  the  earth  could  reach  our  ears ! 
Think  how  the  stifled  sob  of  sudden  sorrow  would  blend 
with  the  music  where  beauty  moves  to  the  pulses  of  the 
viol,  and  where  in  the  great  orchestral  movement  of  human 
life  could  be  found  a  place  for  the  weird,  discordant  note 
of  orphaned  anguish  ?  How  the  thunderous  discords  of 
that  mighty  orchestra  are  reduced  to  harmony  by  the  dull- 
ness of  our  ears  ! 

IxITY  is  an  element  of  human  nature  that,  in  many 
^ — *  respects,  must  be  considered  as  distinct  from  the 
disposition  to  help.  It  is  true  that  they  both  originate  in 
the  primitive  faculty  of  benevolence,  but  this  faculty  seems 
to  have  these  two  closely  related  functions.  The  feverish 
and  extravagant  desire  for  wealth  that  the  indolent  pauper 
experiences  originates  in  the  same  faculty  as  the  thrift 
and  honest  effort  of  the  industrious  man,  and  yet  these  two 

products  are  not  equally  meritorious.     Pity  in  its  ultimate 

482 


Homeless  Orphans. 

analysis  is  doubtless  selfish.  It  is  the  pain  that  we  expe- 
rience on  witnessing  pain  in  others.  Of  course  its  chief 
tendency  is  in  the  direction  of  help,  just  as  any  pain  leads 
us  to  remove  the  cause.  But,  in  the  case  of  pity,  the  ten' 
dency  does  not  always  produce  this  result.  Indeed,  it 
often  produces  an  opposite  result,  as  when  a  woman 
through  excess  of  pity  flies  from  the  scene  of  suffering. 

After  the  close  of  a  certain  battle,  Florence  Nightingale 
was  called  upon  to  witness  the  most  terrible  suffering  in 
the  hospitals,  and  to  yield  her  tender  ministrations  to  the 
shrieking  and  the  dying.  She  had  under  her  charge  several 
young  women  as  assistants.  As  they  approached  the 
couch  of  one  mortally  wounded,  torn  and  mangled  and 
writhing  in  the  awful  throes  of  the  death  agony,  these 
young  women  covered  their  faces  and  fled  from  the  place. 
The  noble  woman,  with  a  majesty  almost  divine,  with  no 
agitation,  no  weakening  tears  of  pity,  turned  and  re- 
buked them,  and  commanded  them  to  return.  Who  of 
those  women,  think  you,  possessed  most  of  that  godlike 
love  that  dares  to  do  and  die  for  others  ?  This  act  on  the 
part  of  the  young  women,  however,  was  not  a  selfish  one  in 
the  popular  sense  of  the  word.  They  desired  to  aid  the 
sufferers,  they  were  there  for  that  purpose.  They  were 
noble  and  generous,  but  they  could  not  match  the  great 
soul  of  Florence  Nightingale,  and  in  their  comparative 
weakness  they  gave  way  to  pity.  Neither  was  Florence 
Nightingale  destitute  of  the  power  to  pity  ;  she  was  capa- 

483 


Homeless  Orphans. 

ble  of  deeper  pity  and  more  copious  tears  of  sympathy  than 
her  assistants,  but  she  crushed  down  her  selfish  pity,  in 
order  to  give  free  scope  to  the  grander  sentiment  of  help. 
She  knew  that  pity's  tears  could  not  heal  those  awful,  gap- 
ing wounds,  and  that  the  hour  demanded  a  higher  min- 
istration than  tender  words  of  sympathy. 

§UT  not  alone  in  such  an  hour  does  the  grandeur  of 
human  love  display  itself.  The  principle  of  be- 
nevolence is  represented  by  two  classes,  the  pitiers  and  the 
helpers.  The  pitiers  are  represented  by  the  sentimental- 
ists, who  speak  in  touching  generalities  about  the  suffer- 
ings of  humanity  ;  the  helpers,  by  the  asylums  and  homes, 
the  public  and  private  charities  of  the  land.  One  class  is 
represented  by  words  and  tears,  the  other  by  the  wordless 
energy  that  feeds,  clothes,  and  protects.  One  orphan  asy- 
lum is  worth  more  than  all  the  tears  of  pity  ever  shed. 
The  grandest  ministration  is  that  which  gives  with  a  heart 
too  noble  to  express  its  own  pain.  The  divinest  love  is 
that  which  builds  its  own  monument,  of  brick  and  mortar, 
with  dry  eyes  and  lion  heart. 

But  how  shall  the  homeless  orphan  profit  by  what  we 
have  said  on  the  subject  of  home  and  its  advantages  ? 
Surely,  if  he  have  no  home,  there  can  be  no  relations 
between  himself  and  that  institution  except  negative  rela- 
tions. 

The  first  thing  to  do,  then,  is  to  seek  some  place  where 

484 


Homeless  Orphans. 

he  can  eat  and  sleep,  and  this  place  he  should  call  home, 
even  though  it  have  no  other  characteristic  of  home  than 
that  it  affords  him  a  secluded  place  in  which  to  eat  his 
crust,  and  a  protection  from  the  dew  and  rain  at  night. 
He  should  never  change  his  quarters  unless  he  can  change 
them  for  the  better.  This  rule  should  be  observed  as  far  as 
circumstances  will  permit. 

Perhaps  the  poor  reader  into  whose  hands  this  book 
may  chance  to  fall  may  not  understand  the  force  of  this 
advice.  But  when  he  subjects  it  to  the  light  even  of  that 
rude  philosophy  of  life  which  he  has  developed  upon  the 
street,  we  trust  it  will  appear  plain  to  him.  He  should  call 
the  place  where  he  eats  and  sleeps  home,  in  order  that  his 
heart  may  not  lose  that  sacred  word  from  its  vocabulary. 
He  should  persist  in  eating  his  meals  and  spending  his 
nights  in  this  one  place,  in  order  that  he  may  not  lose  that 
divinely  born  home  instinct  in  which  the  institution  of 
home  has  originated. 

If  you  are  a  bootblack  upon  the  street,  with  no  parents 
and  no  home  that  you  can  call  your  own,  you  must  surely 
have  some  place  in  which  you  sleep  at  night.  This  you 
can  call  home,  and  it  will  soon  come  to  be  in  some  sense  a 
home  to  you.  And  if,  by  blacking  boots,  you  can  earn  a 
living,  you  can  without  doubt  earn  a  little  besides,  and 
with  the  saved  nickels  and  dimes,  that  nobody  supposes 
you  possess,  you  can  buy  good  clothes,  and  thus  appear  to 

better  advantage  on  the  street  and  in  that  society  in  which 

485 


Homeless  Orphans. 

you  move.  In  this  world  of  unjust  discriminations,  fine 
vestments  are  often  mistaken  for  hearts,  while  real  hearts 
wrapped  up  in  rags  are  often  carelessly  thrown  away.  So 
if  you  have  a  good  heart  it  is  well  to  wrap  it  in  as  fine  a 
piece  of  cloth  as  you  can  afford. 

I  HERE  are  few  orphan  boys  or  girls  who  cannot 
V  obtain  good  situations,  either  in  the  city  or  in  the 
country,  where  they  may  be  clothed  and  fed,  and  be 
allowed  to  attend  school,  and  to  pay  for  such  guardianship 
with  moderate  labor,  in  the  same  condition  as  the  children 
of  the  household. 

It  is  no  disgrace  to  be  sent  to  an  "  orphans'  home." 
Of  course  such  a  home  cannot  be  a  perfect  home,  for  it 
lacks  the  elements  of  "the  fireside"  and  parental  love. 
But  it  has  enough  of  the  essential  elements  to  entitle  it  to 
the  name  of  home.  If  the  semi-public  life  which  is  inevit- 
able is  displeasing  to  the  unfortunate  one,  let  him  remem- 
ber that  in  all  institutions  of  the  kind  the  merits  and  de- 
merits of  the  inmates  are  considered,  and  those  who  have 
proved  themselves  most  worthy  are  the  first  who  are  per- 
mitted to  avail  themselves  of  the  situations  in  private  fami- 
lies that  are  constantly  presenting  themselves.  Officers  are 
employed  expressly  to  search  out  such  situations.  And  an 
orphans'  home  may  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  temporary 
accommodation  where  orphans  are  provided  for  until  their 

applications  for  situations  are  successful.     We  believe  that 

486 


Homeless  Orphans. 

the  active,  benevolent  element  of  society,  if  properly 
reminded  of  its  duty,  is  capable  of  absorbing  the  entire 
element  of  the  world's  orphaned  ones. 

"  Only  a  newsboy,  under  the  light 

Of  the  lamp-post,  plying  his  trade  in  vain  : 
Men  are  too  busy  to  stop  to-night, 

Hurrying  home  through  the  sleet  and  raiii. 
Never  since  dark  a  paper  sold  ; 

Where  shall  he  sleep,  or  how  be  fed? 
He  thinks,  as  he  shivers  there  in  the  cold, 

While  happy  children  are  abed. 

"  Is  it  strange  if  he  turns  about 

With  angry  words,  then  comes  to  blows, 
When  his  little  neighbor,  just  sold  out, 

Tossing  his  pennies,  past  him  goes? 
'  Stop  !  ' —  some  one  looks  at  him,  sweet  and  mild, 

And  the  voice  that  speaks  is  a  tender  one  : 
4  You  should  not  strike  such  a  little  child, 

And  you  should  not  use  such  words,  my  son  !  " 

"  Is  it  his  anger  or  his  fears 

That  have  hushed  his  voice  and  stopped  his  arm  ? 
'  Don't  tremble,'  these  are  the  words  he  hears  ; 

'  Do  you  think  that  I  would  do  you  harm  ?  ' 
'  It  isn't  that,'  and  the  hand  drops  down  ; 

'  I  wouldn't  care  for  kicks  and  blows  ; 
But  nobody  ever  called  me  son, 

Because  I'm  nobody's  child,  I  s'pose.' 

"  O  men  !  as  ye  careless  pass  along, 

Remember  the  love  that  has  cared  for  you, 
And  blush  for  the  awful  shame  and  wrong 

Of  a  world  where  such  a  thing  could  be  true  ! 
Think  what  the  child  at  your  knee  had  been 

If  thus  on  life's  lonely  billows  tossed  ; 
And  who  shall  bear  the  weight  of  the  sin, 
If  one  of  these  '  little  ones  '  be  lost !  ' ' 
487 


CHAPTER  FORTY-FIVE. 

Homes  of  tine  Poor. 


ISTORY  records  no  great  reforms,  no  rare  efforts 
of  philanthropy  and  love,  whose  authors  have 
__  ,  not  felt  the  restraint  of  at  least  moderate 
want.  Out  from  the  ten  thousand  unpainted  cottages  that 
dot  the  land  have  stalked  forth  the  great  thoughts  and  the 
mighty  deeds. 

Luxury  is  the  concave  lens  which  disperses  the  rays 
of  human  energy,  while  poverty  is  the  convex  lens  which 
causes  them  to  converge,  often  bringing  them  to  a  power- 
ful focus,  and,  like  the  mirrors  of  Archimedes,  burning 
the  fleets  of  the  enemy. 

Let  no  young  man  despair  because  he  is  poor.  As  well 
might  the  engine  despair  because  the  iron  bands  confine 
the  restless  energy  of  the  steam.  The  engineer  computes 
the  resistance  to  physical  force  in  what  he  terms  foot- 
pounds. So  poverty  is  a  term  that  simply  designates  the 
resistance  to  the  divine  energies  of  a  human  soul.  There 
are  two  indispensable  conditions  to  the  development  of 
power  in  the  engine  ;  first  the  application  of  heat,  and 

488 


Homes  of  the  Poor. 

second  the  outward  resistance  to  confine  the  force  gener- 
ated. So  in  the  soul  these  same  two  conditions  must  exist ; 
the  heat  of  a  persistent  volition,  of  a  dauntless  purpose, 
must  be  applied,  and  also  the  outward  resistance  of  cir- 
cumstances to  confine  and  concentrate  the  power  thus 
generated. 

The  gigantic  power  of  the  engine  is  obtained  by  con- 
fining those  restless  particles  of  steam  which  are  strug- 
gling for  release,  and  which,  if  they  do  not  soon  obtain  it, 
will  burst  their  iron  bands  asunder. 

How  impotent  is  the  most  terrific  heat  if  the  steam 
which  it  generates  have  no  resistance  to  overcome  !  Just 
so  with  the  most  gigantic  volition  and  the  grandest  pur- 
pose, if  they  are  not  pent  in  by  some  sufficing  resistance. 
If  they  have  no  fetters,  either  seen  or  unseen,  in  some  way 
proportionate  to  their  own  strength,  they  will  be  dissipated 
as  harmlessly  as  the  vapor  which  rises  at  its  leisure  from 
the  open  boiler.  ^ 

poverty  we  do  not  mean  the  condition  of  those 
who  moan  with  hunger  and  shiver  with  cold,  but 
more  particularly  the  condition  of  that  great  class  whose 
desires  and  needs  are  separated  from  their  gratification  by 
the  breadth  of  a  wearying  effort.  In  this  sense  we  attach 
to  the  word  the  significance  of  a  natural  law,  obviously 
designed  and  ordained  by  the  Creator  to  meet  the  neces- 
sary conditions  of  human  development. 

489 


Homes  of  the  Poor. 

If  we  would  trace  the  proudest  achievement  of  human 
genius  to  its  origin,  we  must  follow  it  back  through  wind- 
ing pathways,  from  the  brilliant  hall,  from  the  thunder 
of  human  applause,  to  the  plain,  often  homely  cottage  of 
poverty.  If  the  gratification  of  every  want  lay  within  the 
leisure  grasp  of  that  want,  the  very  atmosphere  of  human 
society  would  become  pestilential  with  stagnation. 

Go  to  the  sunny  tropics  where  nature  with  curious 
caprice  empties  her  lap  of  spoils  in  the  presence  of  men, 
and  behold  the  weakness,  the  languor,  and  the  inanity. 
Humanity  there  has  just  activity  enough  to  be  vicious. 
Where  must  we  go  to  hear  the  hum  of  spindles,  to  feel 
beneath  our  feet  the  jar  of  rushing  trains,  and  to  see  the 
smoky  signals  of  human  industry  waving  over  a  thousand 
hills  ?  We  must  go  where  winter  throws  up  his  icy  bul- 
wark between  the  wants  of  man  and  their  gratification. 
Under  such  conditions  human  inertia  ceases. 

Force  and  resistance  constitute  the  eternal  polarity  of 
existence.  The  one  cannot  exist  without  the  other,  any 
more  than  there  can  be  boreal  magnetism  without  austral ; 
any  more  than  there  can  be  action  without  reaction. 

In  order  for  force,  either  physical  or  mental,  to  be 
cumulative  the  resistance  must  exceed  the  force  so  as  to 
elicit  the  increase.  Hence  the  mission  of  poverty. 

Not  only  is  poverty  necessary  to  develop  human  nature 
and  make  its  forces  cumulative,  but  it  is  necessary  to 
prevent  the  extravagant  and  irregular  expenditure  of  those 

490 


Homes  of  the  Poor. 

forces.  It  may  be  that  human  nature  absolutely  perfect 
would  be  self-regulating,  even  when  all  its  desires  could  be 
gratified  without  laborious  effort ;  yet  under  present  condi- 
tions it  certainly  requires  resistance  in  certain  directions. 
The  son  of  affluence  soon  runs  the  rounds  of  all  possible 
pleasures,  and  then  life  becomes  insipid.  We  enjoy  life's 
blessings  just  in  proportion  to  their  variety  and  the  effort 
that  they  cost.  All  pleasures  are  enhanced  by  prelimi- 
nary effort.  This  fact  explains  the  adage  that  "stolen  fruit 
is  always  sweetest."  It  is  because  of  the  exciting  effort 
which  accompanies  the  unlawful  procuring  of  it.  That 
fruit,  however,  which  is  bought  with  honest  labor  should 
be  sweetest,  while  the  most  insipid  is  that  which  lies 
within  the  reach  of  the  appetite  without  the  aid  of  labor. 
When  will  men  learn  that  ease  and  rest  and  luxury  are 
misnomers  ?  It  is  the  subtile  and  divine  alchemy  of 
sweat  which  transforms  sorrow  and  languor  into  joy  and 
peace. 

M^J  OMES  of  the  poor  !    Sacred  shrines   of  earth  where 

V.    the  altar  fires  of  genius  have  been  lighted  !    May 

the   world   forever  be  blessed  with  moderate  want.     The 

•» 

human  mind  is  never  whole  till  it  has  suffered,  and  it  is 
better  that  the  angel  of  poverty  should  mete  out  the 
required  suffering  in  the  form  of  a  perpetual  restraint,  than 
that  it  should  burst  like  the  thunderstorm  from  the  azure 

sky  of  luxury,  darkening  with  its  clouds  the  sun  of  life. 

491 


Homes  of  the  Poor. 

The  home  of  the  poor  man  does  not  necessarily  mean  a 
home  of  suffering,  save  in  that  humiliation  and  restraint  to 
which  it  is  necessary  for  all  souls  to  be  subjected  in  order 
to  develop.  The  poor  man's  home  need  not  be  devoid  of  a 
certain  degree  of  luxury.  Beautiful  pictures  and  works  of 
art  can  no  longer  be  monopolized  by  the  rich,  for  the  busy 
brain  of  invention  has  brought  them  within  the  reach  of 
all.  The  price  of  ten  cents  worth  of  tobacco  smoke  saved 
each  day  for  fifteen  or  twenty  days  will  purchase  a  fine 
book.  The  very  poorest  of  men  find  no  difficulty  in  pur- 
chasing this  amount  of  tobacco  smoke  each  day.  Only 
think  how  many  days  there  are  in  a  lifetime  !  Three  hun- 
dred and  thirteen  working  days  in  a  year  at  ten  cents  a 
day  would  give  $31.30.  Twenty  years  would  give  $626.00, 
which  would  purchase  at  least  five  hundred  volumes,  a 
library  of  which  most  men  should  be  proud.  For  five  hun- 
dred volumes  of  the  best  books  comprise  nearly  all  there  is 
of  pre-eminent  worth  in  literature.  What  an  inspiring 
thought  for  a  poor  boy  !  the  gist  of  all  literature  purchased 
with  the  little  self-denial  that  it  costs  to  refrain  from  mak- 
ing bacon  of  one's  self. 

Young  man  !  promise  us  that  as  soon  as  you  have  read, 
this  chapter,  you  will  begin  to  lay  up  ten  cents  a  day,  and, 
if  you  will  smoke  cigars,  then  be  a  little  more  economical 
in  other  things,  and  lay  up  at  least  five  cents.  You  have 
your  life  before  you,  and  it  would  soon  be  so  natural  for 
you  to  lay  by  the  small  amount  daily,  that  you  would  drop 

492 


Homes  of  the  Poor. 

it  from   habit  into  your  private  treasury   almost  uncon- 
sciously.    Try  it,  and  reap  the  harvest. 

"  He  sat  all  alone  in  his  dark  little  room, 
His  fingers  aweary  with  work  at  the  loom, 
His  eyes  seeing  not  the  fine  threads,  for  the  tears, 
As  he  carefully  counted  the  months  and  the  years 
He  had  been  a  poor  weaver. 

"  Not  a  traveler  went  on  the  dusty  highway, 

But  he  thought,  '  He  has  nothing  to  do  but  be  gay  ' ; 
No  matter  how  burdened  or  bent  he  might  be, 
The  weaver  believed  him  more  happy  than  he, 
And  sighed  at  his  weaving. 

"  He  saw  not  the  roses  so  sweet  and  so  red 

That  looked  through  his  window  ;  he  thought  to  be  dead 
And  carried  away  from  his  dark  little  room, 
Wrapped  up  in  the  linen  he  had  in  his  loom, 
Were  better  than  weaving. 

"  Just  then  a  white  angel  came  out  of  the  skies, 
And  shut  up  his  senses,  and  sealed  up  his  eyes, 
And  bore  him  away  from  the  work  at  his  loom 
In  a  vision,  and  left  him  alone  by  the  tomb 
Of  his  dear  little  daughter. 

"  '  My  darling  !  '  he  cries,  '  what  a  blessing  was  mine  ! 
How  I  sinned,  having  you,  against  goodness  divine  ! 
Awake  !  O  my  lost  one,  my  sweet  one,  awake  ! 
And  I  never,  as  long  as  T  live,  for  your  sake, 
Will  sigh  at  my  weaving  !  ' 
493 


Homes  of  the  Poor. 

"  The  sunset  was  gilding  his  low  little  room 

When  the  weaver  awoke  from  his  dream  at  the  loom, 
And  close  at  his  knee  saw  a  dear  little  head 
Alight  with  long  curls, —  she  was  living,  not  dead, — 
His  pride  and  his  treasure. 

"  He  winds  the  fine  thread  on  his  shuttle  anew, — 
At  thought  of  his  blessing  'twas  easy  to  do, — 
And  sings  as  he  weaves,  for  the  joy  at  his  breast, 
Peace  cometh  of  striving,  and  labor  is  rest : 
Grown  wise  was  the  Aveaver." 


494 


CHAPTER  FORTY-FIVE. 


Homes    of   ttie    Rich. 


T  is  the  duty  of  the  poor  man  to  live  within  his 
income,  hut  it  is  no  less  the  duty  of  the  rich  man  to 
make  his  expenditures  proportionate  to  his  income. 
People  sometimes  hold  up  their  hands  in  holy  horror  when 
they  read  or  hear  that  some  millionaire  has  spent  an  enor- 
mous sum  on  his  buildings,  his  wardrobe,  or  his  garden  ; 
but  they  do  not  stop  to  think  that  he  is  thereby  discharging 
a  duty  which  he  owes  to  society.  He  is  redistributing  the 
money  that  he  has  gathered.  The  great  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple must  earn  their  daily  bread  by  performing  labor  for 
others,  but  only  the  wealthy  can  hire  people  to  labor  for 
them.  Hence  those  who  possess  wealth  and  will  not  spend 
it  in  being  served,  are  the  thieves  and  robbers  of  society. 
No  wealthy  man  has  any  business  to  live  in  a  cottage. 
There  are  poor  people  enough  to  live  in  cottages.  It  is 
his  business  to  live  in  a  palace,  and  to  hire  those  to  build 
it  who  live  in  cottages. 

We  have,  perhaps,  used  the  word  served  unadvisedly. 
We  do  not  mean  that  the  wealthy  man  discharges  his  obli- 

495 


Homes  of  the  Rich. 

gation  to  society  when  he  expends  large  sums  to  increase 
his  personal  comforts.  He  should  make  his  wealth  serve 
himself  by  first  making  it  serve  society  in  the  promotion 
of  legitimate  business  enterprise.  Nor  do  we  mean  that 
he  should  expend  upon  his  dwelling  and  for  his  own 
personal  gratification  more  than  can  normally  and  law- 
fully minister  to  his  comfort,  convenience,  and  aesthetic 
faculties. 

/VND  yet  there  is  concealed  in  the  very  sentiment  of 
V^  extravagance  to  which  wealth  prompts,  a  kind  of 
compensatory  principle  ;  one  of  Nature's  curative  efforts, 
by  which  the  economic  interests  of  society  are  made  self- 
acting.  The  world's  wealth  cannot  be  hoarded  by  individ- 
uals save  for  a  brief  period.  All  attempts  to  do  so  are 
thwarted  by  Nature  herself  through  instrumentalities  so 
cunning  and  subtile  as  to  Reserve  our  applause.  She  has 
three  processes  by  which  she  robs  the  rich  man  of  his  large 
acquisitions  and  gives  back  the  spoils  to  the  poor. 

The  first  process  she  employs  when  she  deals  with  the 
miserly  rich  man,  the  man  who  has  sacrificed  all  other 
sources  of  enjoyment  to  this  one  instinct  of  hoarding.  She 
has  so  constituted  him  that  this  sacrifice,  this  concentra- 
tion of  all  the  energies  of  his  being  upon  the  one  organ 
of  acquisitiveness,  necessarily  results  in  the  withdrawal 
of  potency  from  the  intellectual.  The  miser's  intellect, 
accordingly,  is  never  broad  and  comprehensive.  He  has, 

49  G 


Homes  of  the  Rich. 

it  is  true,  a  certain  degree  or  kind  of  intellectuality,  but  it 
is  for  the  most  part  of  the  same  nature  as  that  of  the  fox. 
He  makes  a  use  of  his  intellectual  powers  that  is  below 
their  normal  function,  and  hence  tends  to  weaken  them. 
This  is  the  process  by  which  organs  and  functions  become 
"  abortive,"  as  the  evolutionists  would  term  it.  When  the 
wings  of  the  bird  are  used  chiefly  for  a  purpose  below  their 
natural  function  they  are  becoming  "abortive."  We  see 
the  result  of  this  process  in  barn  fowl  that  use  their  wings 
only  to  aid  their  running.  Hence  hens  and  turkeys  are 
•  unable  to  fly  any  considerable  distance  without  great 
exhaustion. 

Just  so  the  intellectual  wings  of  the  miser  are  becom- 
ing abortive,  for  he  uses  them  not  to  fly  with  but  simply  to 
aid  his  running.  In  very  many  cases  we  have  only  to  wait 
one  generation  to  see  this  abortive  process  completed. 
The  children  of  the  miser  rarely  have  the  executive  force 
to  keep  the  lock  upon  the  father's  chest.  Thus  nature,  by 
a  process  subtler  than  the  necromancy  of  the  Egyptian 
wizard,  gives  back  to  the  masses  that  which  has  been 
taken  from  them. 

Nature  makes  use  of  her  second  method  when  dealing 
with  the  energetic,  active,  shrewd,  and  executive  rich 
man,  the  accumulator  rather  than  the  hoarder.  The  two 
are  in  many  respects  opposite  in  their  characteristics.  The 
merchant,  the  manufacturer,  and  the  railroad  king  show 
no  tendency  toward  the  abortive  intellect.  Indeed,  their 

497 


Homes  of  the  Rich. 

function  is  usually  such  as  to  develop  great  strength  and 
activity  of  intellect.  But  the  miser  proper  is  one  whose 
motto  is,  "a  penny  saved  is  a  penny  earned."  His  sole 
delight  is  in  the  consciousness  of  his  possessions,  and  in 
counting  and  sorting  his  valuable  papers.  His  money  is 
all  in  bonds  and  mortgages,  hence  he  lives  in  idleness  and 
gloats  over  the  self-accumulation  of  his  wealth. 

Now  this  second  method  which  nature  employs  in  her 
ceaseless  effort  at  equalization  is  simply  this  :  she  has 
made  human  nature  such  (and  consequently  society,  which 
is  but  an  outgrowth  of  human  nature),  that  the  individual 
want  cannot  be  met  except  by  a  contribution  to  the  gen- 
eral good.  Wealth  is  simply  potential  gratification.  But 
it  cannot  minister  to  the  desires  of  him  who  holds  it  save 
as  it  yields  a  secondary  ministration  to  the  general  inter- 
est, whose  relation  with  it  is  the  sole  source  of  its 
potentiality. 

The  natural  wants  and  desires  of  man  lie  within  com- 
paratively narrow  limits.  Bacon  wisely  says,  "  The  per- 
sonal fruition  in  any  man  cannot  reach  to  feel  great 
riches."  A  very  moderate  income  will  meet  all  the  per- 
sonal wants  and  desires  of  man.  He  cannot  want  or 
desire  anything  outside  the  bounds  of  his  nature.  He 
desires  food,  but  the  quantity  has  a  very  obvious  limit,  and 
there  must  also  be  a  comparatively  moderate  limit  to  its 
costliness.  He  desires  raiment,  but,  even  if  his  caprice 
demands  golden  garments,  the  inevitable  limit  is  easily 

408 


" 

Homes  of  the  Rich, 

reached.  All  the  potentiality,  then,  which  his  wealth  pos- 
sesses, beyond  a  small  per  cent.,  must  redound  to  the  gen- 
eral good  in  spite  of  him.  The  rich  man  is  the  smallest 
stockholder  in  his  own  wealth. 

Two  men  were  once  conversing  about  John  Jacob 
Astor's  property.  One  was  asked  if  he  would  be  willing 
to  take  care  of  all  those  millions  merely  for  his  board  and 
clothing.  "No,"  he  indignantly  replied,  "do  you  take  me 
for  a  fool?"  "Well,"  said  the  other,  "that  is  all  Mr. 
Astor  himself  gets  for  taking  care  of  it  ;  he's  found,  and 
that's  all.  The  houses,  the  warehouses,  the  ships,  the 
farms,  which  he  counts  by  the  hundred,  and  is  often 
obliged  to  take  care  of,  are  for  the  accommodation  of 
others."  "But  then  he  has  the  income,  the  rents  of  all 
this  large  property,  five  or  six  hundred  thousand  dollars 
per  annum."  "Yes,  but  he  can  do  nothing  with  his  in- 
come but  build  more  houses  and  warehouses  and  ships,  or 
loan  money  on  mortgages  for  the  convenience  of  others. 
He's  found,  and  you  can  make  nothing  else  out  of  it." 

The  world  ought  not  to  complain  so  long  as  it  gets 
ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  the  rich  man's  income.  If  the  rich 
man  uses  his  wealth  in  building  tenement  houses  to  rent, 
he  not  only  furnishes  remunerative  labor  to  the  workmen 
who  build  them,  but  by  his  competition  he  lowers  rent  and 
thus  confers  a  general  blessing.  The  same  is  true  if  he 
invests  it  in  railroads,  for  the  more  railroads  the  more  com- 
petition, and  hence  the  lower  the  rate  of  transportation. 

499 


Homes  of  the  Rich. 

There  is  but  one  thing  he  can  do  with  his  money  that  will 
not  yield  the  general  good  a  much  larger  contribution  than 

himself.     He  can  lock  it  up  in  his  own  vault.     But  in  that 
> 

case  it  not  only  yields  himself  nothing,  but  Nature  will 
make  use  of  her  first  method  and  will  take  the  money  her- 
self and  leave  his  children  or  grandchildren  penniless. 

Nature's  third  method  is  a  modification  of  her  first. 
She  uses  it  in  her  dealings  with  the  children  of  the  active 
rich  man.  It  is  simply  that  law  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken  in  our  chapter  on  "  Homes  of  the  Poor,"  by  which 
restraint  upon  desire  develops  executive  power.  In  the 
children  of  the  rich  we  see,  perhaps,  little  if  any  tendency 
to  the  abortive  intellect,  but  the  abortive  tendency  is 
chiefly  or  wholly  confined  to  the  executive  powers.  There 
is  much  difference  between  earning  a  dollar,  and  asking 
papa  for  it.  The  boy  who  toils  all  day  for  a  dollar  and 
brings  it  home  at  night,  hungry  and  tired,  not  only  knows 
the  value  of  that  dollar,  but  by  such  a  practice  he  is 
developing  in  his  soul  a  power  of  action  that  will  enable  it 
to  laugh  at  every  obstacle  that  earth  can  offer.  Take  the 
wealth  from  the  children  of  the  rich  and  they  become 
objects  of  charity. 

1  A |E  would  not  be  quoted  by  the  poor  in  justification  of 
^     their  poverty.     Poverty  is  unnatural  and  undesir- 
able to  all,  and  there  is  little  excuse  for  most  people  to 
remain  in  its  fetters,  making  due  allowance,  however,  for 

500 


Homes  of  the  Rich. 

exceptional  cases.  Poverty,  like  temptation  and  sin,  yields 
its  ministry  only  in  the  process  of  being  overcome.  The 
tribute  we  have  paid  to  poverty  in  the  preceding  chapter 
would  be  almost  as  applicable  had  our  theme  been  tempta- 
tion, yet  we  would  hardly  advocate  exposing  ourselves 
needlessly  to  temptation  for  the  sake  of  its  possible  minis- 
try. 

All  normal  action  is  disciplinary,  for  every  possible 
gratification  implies  an  aggressive  movement.  The  eter- 
nal warfare  between  want  and  satisfaction  is  a  natural 
warfare,  and  one  which  cannot  cease  till  the  army  of  crea- 
tion shall  give  the  signal  of  surrender,  and  he  who 
refuses  to  engage  in  this  warfare  is  a  traitorous  deserter, 
and  deserves  the  deserter's  fate.  He  who  is  contented 
with  poverty,  and  seeks  not  to  subdue  it,  must  be  reckoned 
with  this  class ;  he  has  mutinied  against  the  generalship 
of  his  Maker. 

1  A  FEALTH,  then,  if  it  be  the  representative  and  co-rela- 
^  tive  of  service  done  to  mankind,  so  far  from  being 
an  evil  or  a  necessary  accompaniment  of  moral  demerit,  is 
a  badge  of  honor.  It  is  the  war  record,  which  shows  how 
far  one  has  triumphed  over  the  divinely  appointed  opposi- 
tion to  his  progress  ;  and  in  this  sense  may  even  justly  be 
compared  with  the  moral  virtues,  which  are  the  spirit's 
war  record,  and  show  how  far  it  has  triumphed,  in  the 
spiritual  warfare,  over  the  forces  of  temptation  and  evil. 

501 


Homes  of  the  Rich, 

Wealth  is  an  evil  only  when  it  is  allowed  to  release  its 
owner  from  honorable  and  worthy  labor.  No  possible 
condition  of  life  can  release  one  who  is  physically  and 
mentally  able,  from  the  moral  obligation  to  toil. 

But  suppose  one  inherits  a  million.  Shall  he  toil  for 
his  daily  bread  ?  No  !  not  for  his  daily  bread,  but  in  behalf 
of  mankind.  We  have  but  a  secondary  claim  upon  our 
own  powers.  Wealth  augments  our  natural  endowments. 
Two  men  with  equal  talents,  the  one  poor  and  the  other 
rich,  possess  very  unequal  power  for  doing  good.  So  that 
the  man  who  inherits  a  million  should  begin  life  as  though 
he  were  penniless.  We  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  he 
should  chop  wood  or  learn  the  blacksmith's  trade,  but 
that  he  should  regard  the  million  simply  as  a  reinforce- 
ment of  his  faculties.  He  is,  by  so  much,  a  more  talented 
man,  or  rather  his  natural  talents  are  supplemented  by 
that  which  virtually  makes  them  more  powerful. 

The  rich  in  the  majority  of  cases  violate  the  laws  of 
the  home  life,  from  the  fact  that  they  allow  their  wealth 
to  release  them  from  toil,  the  only  thing  that  can  render 
the  "  earth-life  worth  living."  Indolence  will  render  every 
possible  joy  insipid. 

We  have  said,  in  the  early  part  of  this  chapter,  that 
those  who  possess  wealth  and  will  not  spend  it  in  being 
served  are  the  thieves  and  robbers  of  society.  But  that 
service  should  be  simply  for  the  purpose  of  releasing  them 
from  a  lower  duty  in  order  that  they  may  perform  a 

502 


Homes  of  the  Rich. 

higher  duty  which  their  wealth  enables  them  to  fulfill. 
Hence,  if  the  wife  and  daughter  will  not  engage  in  some 
form  of  service  to  their  kind,  they  have  no  moral  right  to 
hire  a  servant  to  serve  their  food  for  them.  Indeed,  they 
have  no  moral  right  to  the  food  itself.  Lahor  is  a  natural 
ordinance,  and  riches  cannot  release  one  from  the  obliga- 
tion to  a  universal  law.  It  is  as  binding  upon  the  million- 
aire as  upon  the  pauper,  and  he  who  seeks  to  evade  this 
law  is  a  criminal  according  to  the  statutes  of  the  universe. 

Let  every  rich  man's  daughter  engage  in  some  regular 
and  useful  vocation  ;  and  thus  bless  herself  by  the  labor, 
and  mankind  with  the  product.  Not  that  we  would 
impose  upon  her,  simply  because  she  is  wealthy,  the  som- 
ber duties  of  a  nun.  But  we  would  have  her  labor  daily  in 
order  that  she  may  fulfill  the  mission  of  her  life,  in  order 
that  she  may  develop  in  herself  and  entail  upon  the  com- 
ing generation  that  which  labor  alone  can  develop.  The 
wife  who  does  not,  at  least,  exercise  a  general  supervision 
over  her  own  household  affairs  is  a  drone  in  society. 

The  only  absolutely  selfish  motive  that  the  highest 
morality  permits  in  the  accumulation  of  wealth  is  the  nor- 
mal desire  for  independence  in  all  the  relations  of  life  ;  and 

x 

if  beyond  this,  nature  has  endowed  one  with  a  special 
capacity  for  acquiring  wealth,  the  product  of  that  capac- 
ity, like  the  product  of  every  other  form  of  genius,  is  man- 
kind's and  not  his. 

The  home  of  the  rich  man  should  represent  as  much 

503 


Homes  of  the  Rich. 

wealth  as,  thus  expended,  will  have  a  tendency  to  increase 
the  comfort  and  convenience  of  his  family.  Beyond  this, 
however,  he  has  no  moral  right  to  lavish  wealth  upon  his 
home  for  the  mere  gratification  of  his  vanity.  He  should 
invest  it  in  some  honorable  and  useful  industry,  where  it 
will  yield  humanity  a  higher  rate  of  interest  than  that  of 
mere  taxation. 

Burns  has  given  us  the  licenses  of  wealth  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines  : 

"  But  gather  gear  by  every  wile 
That's  justified  by  honor  ; 
Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge, 
Nor  for  a  train  attendant, 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 
Of  being  independent." 


504 


CHAPTER  FORTY-SEVEN. 

Tfre  tiome  and  the  State. 


1  »  J HAT  constitutes  a  state  ? 

«V^   Not  high  raised  battlements,  or  labor'd  mound, 

Thick  wall,  or  moated  gate  ; 
Not  cities  proud,  with  spires  and  turrets  crown 'd ; 

Not  bays  and  broad  arm'd  ports, 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  rich  navies  ride  ; 

Nor  starr'd  and  spangled  courts, 
Where  low-brow 'd  baseness  wafts  perfumes  to  pride  :  — 

No  1  men,  high-minded  men, 
With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endu'd, 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den, 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude  ; 

Men  who  their  duties  know, 
But  know  their  rights  ;  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain, 

Prevent  the  long-armed  blow, 
And  crush  the  tyrant,  while  they  rend  the  chain  — 

These  constitute  a  state. 

—  Sir  William  Jones. 


(5  I   HER 


HERE  is  a  vital  relation  existing  between  the  homes 
of  a  people  and  that  sovereign  power  called  the 


-1—  state.  The  interests  and  ideals  of  the  one  cannot 
be  separated  from  the  interests  and  ideals  of  the  other. 
They  are  both  forms  of  government  having  an  ultimately 

505 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

common  end  and  historically  (at  least,  if  certain  forms  of 
tradition  may  be  accepted  as  history)  have  had  a  common 
origin,  and  for  a  long  period  of  3rears  were  either  coinci- 
dent, or  existent  side  by  side. 

Patriarchal  government,  or  government  by  fathers  or 
patriarchs,  was  originally  and  chiefly  religious  in  charac- 
ter. It  did  not  possess  the  contrariety  of  form,  charter 
enactments,  or  function  characteristic  of  later  and  more 
recent  governments.  This  is  readily  understood  when  one 
considers  that  the  peoples  possessing  and  upholding  this 
system  were  simple  and  pastoral  in  their  habits  and 
imbued  with  a  unique  religious  spirit.  Their  material  and 
religious  interests  were  both  communal.  Their  lands, 
tents,  oxen,  vineyards,  were  in  great  part  either  held  in 
common  or  as  tribal  possessions.  Individual  effort,  the 
home,  specialized  industry,  and  distinctive  characteristics 
generally,  were  lost  in  the  greater  issue  of  a  common  pur- 
pose and  destiny. 

To  some;  perhaps,  this  form  of  government  may  seem 
ideal  ;  some  even  seek  to  re-establish  it  to-day.  Its  simplic- 
ity, its  conservation  of  individual  energy,  its  moral  tone, 
its  oneness  of  aim, —  all  have  done  much  to  commend  it. 
But  certain  it  is  that  with  the  march  of  a  few  centuries  it 
disappeared.  Society  began  to  differentiate ;  patriarchs 
became  kings  ;  the  laws  of  succession  changed  ;  toil  took 
on  new  forms  and  the  distribution  of  its  products. gave  rise 
to  a  multiplicity  of  new  departments  for  human  activity. 

506 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

In  short,  these  diversified  and  diversifying  conditions 
brought  a  new  order  of  things  and  with  them  new  forms 
of  government. 

lifRITERS  on  primitive  institutions  generally  agree 
^  that  the  village  or  community  was  a  simple  and 
natural  development  from  the  family.  In  other  words,  the 
village  was  an  enlarged  family,  embracing  those  nearest  of 
kin,  together  with  their  slaves,  domestic  animals,  house- 
hold gods,  priests,  and  the  usual  paraphernalia  of  commu- 
nal life.  Contiguous  villages,  or  those  characterized  by 
common  interests,  or  the  physical  configuration  of  their 
lands,  then  gradually  became  united  under  a  single  head 
or  monarch,  for  their  common  defense  and  welfare.  From 
such  alliances  and  continually  diversifying  relations,  it  can 
be  easily  observed,  that  the  borders  of  villages  were 
extended  from  time  to  time,  either  peacefully  or  through 
conquest,  and  their  enlarged  opportunities  developed  new 
functions  in  both  sovereign  and  subject.  Village  united 
with  village,  or  the  weaker  were  subdued  by  the  stronger  ; 
alien  communities  became  dependencies,  and  the  whole 
was  solidified  into  what  may  be  termed,  by  virtue  of  its 
extent  and  importance,  a  state  or  realm. 

The  process,  it  will  be  observed,  was  at  first  one  of 
aggregation  and  in  this  respect  the  evolution  of  society  has 
followed  a  well  recognized  natural  law,  viz.,  that  of  aggre- 
gation and  segregation.  When  the  state  had  reached  a 

507 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

certain  stage  through  centralization  and  successive  addi- 
tions to  its  domain,  it  became  necessary  to  recognize  not 
alone  the  welfare  of  the  state  itself,  but  the  units  compos- 
ing the  state.  Thus  the  state  became  reactionary  and  a 
more  or  less  defined  policy  was  demanded  covering  the 
relations  of  state  and  subject.  A  segregation  or  division 
of  interests  became  imperative  to  the  continued  life  of  the 
state  itself,  as  well  as  a  matter  of  policy  and  utility  on 
behalf  of  the  subject.  Many  influences,  which  cannot  be 
recounted  here,  have  been  at  work  to  make  predominant 
at  one  time  the  interests  of  the  state  and  at  another  time 
the  interests  of  the  people  ;  but  the  fact  remains,  neverthe- 
less, that  the  principles  of  aggregation  and  segregation 
are  those  about  which  have  revolved  the  fortunes  of 
nations  and  peoples. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  trace  the  varying  attitudes 
of  the  home  and  the  state,  as  affected  by  the  mutations  of 
government,  throughout  the  entire  period  of  authentic  his- 
tory, but  such  a  treatment  here  is  scarcely  germane  to  this 
chapter.  The  forms  of  government  during  these  centuries 
have  been  confined  largely  to  three  types  (and  their  vari- 
ations), the  patriarchal,  monarchical,  and  democratic,  of 
which  the  last  two  still  persist  among  civilized  peoples  and 
in  which  the  interaction  of  family  and  state  is  most  nota- 
ble. Under  the  constitutional  monarchy  of  England  and 
the  democratic  government  of  the  United  States  the  home 

is  probably  accorded  a  higher  function  than  under  any 

508 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

other  dominion.  The  rule  of  the  state  is  beneficent 
because  it  is  the  collective  expression  of  the  homes ;  the 
homes  are  exemplary  because  they  are  under  the  fostering 
influences  of  wise  laws  and  wise  rulers,  and  are  allowed 
the  fullest  development  of  their  free  activities. 

IF,  then,  it  is  true  that  a  state  is  but  an  aggregate  of 
homes,  whose  purpose  is  the  highest  possible  develop- 
ment of  the  individuals  composing  that  state,  how  signifi- 
cant is  the  relation  and  duty  of  the  family  to  the  public 
weal !  The  home  becomes  the  natural  unit  of  all  that  is 
highest  and  best  in  the  body  politic.  It  is  the  arbiter  of 
public  morals,  the  leaven  of  social  purity,  the  center  of 
inspirational  life,  the  dispenser  of  noble  charities,  and  the 
censor  of  national  ideals.  The  stream  can  rise.no  higher 
than  its  fount  and  so  the  supreme  test  of  national  life  lies 
in  the  homes  of  the  people. '  The  safety  and  perpetuity  of 
government  can  rest  no  where  else.  From  a  disregard  of 
the  common  interests  of  the  homes  by  the  state  comes 
national  strife  and  contention,  industrial  unrest,  economic 
waste,  social  malcontents,  destruction  of  the  unity  of  inter- 
ests, and  a  thousand  and  one  lesser  evils  that  betoken  retro- 
gression if  not  actual  decadence. 

/VT   various  periods  throughout    history  efforts  have 
V_  been  made  to  formulate  theories  respecting  the 

ideal  state.     Plato's  Republic,  the  Utopia  of  Sir  John  More, 

509 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

and  Edward  Bellamy's  Looking  Backward  have  been  note- 
worthy attempts  in  this  direction,  —  all  of  which  are  char- 
acterized by  lines  of  thought  more  fantastic  perhaps  than 
philosophical.  Many  attempts  have  also  been  made  in 
the  economic  literature  of  the  present  century  to  present 
conceptions  of  the  state,  with  all  its  interrelations,  more 
in  accord  with  the  prevailing  scientific  spirit.  All  of  these 
have  brought  their  contributions  to  the  perplexing  prob- 
lems of  government  and  social  economy  and  in  their  main 
themes  have  given  emphasis  to  the  home  as  a  potent  factor 
in  civic  progression  and  reform. 

The  problem  of  the  relation  of  labor  to  capital,  the 
assimilation  of  races,  education,  religion,  charities,  the 
coalition  of  wealth,  taxation,  territorial  aggrandizement, 
the  whole  range  of  relations,  in  short,  arising  out  of  the 
effort  to  combine  into  a  composite  whole  the  militant  inter- 
ests of  the  people,  must  engage  the  attention  and  the  stu- 
dious consideration  of  the  home  equally  with  the  state. 
Such  consideration  should  not  only  be  reckoned  a  duty 
but  a  privilege  of  citizenship.  Every  fireside  has  the  right 
to  intelligently  co-operate  in  its  own  defense,  and  to  pro- 
mote its  own  interests  and  well-being  as  long  as  it  is  not 
in  derogation  of  the  rights  of  others.  It  owes  a  large  duty 
to  itself  but  it  also  owes  a  large  duty  to  its  environment. 
It  must  radiate  an  influence  for  law  and  order  that  will 
make  possible  the  further  development  of  itself  and  insure 
its  perpetuation.  The  highest  principle  for  the  govern- 

510 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

merit  of  the  home,  as  for  the  government  of  the  state,  is 
the  seemingly  paradoxical  one  of  the  unselfish  development 
of  self.  In  other  words,  it  is  but  the  application  of  Imman- 
uel  Kant's  supreme  rule  of  morals,  "  So  order  your  conduct 
that  it  may,  if  possible,  be  in  harmony  with  the  rights  of 
all  men." 

M^J  OW  best  to  secure  this  intimate  co-operation  of  the 
V^,  home  and  the  state  so  as  to  insure  the  highest  re- 
sults, is  the  vast  problem  of  modern  society.  Perfection  of 
development  in  either  cannot  be  hoped  for  because  it  is 
not  a  quality  of  finite  things.  But  notwithstanding  this 
the  rule  of  our  duty  is  clear.  The  mutuality  of  action  for 
home  and  state  must,  at  least,  be  in  the  direction  of  the 
highest  ideals  of  individuality  and  collectivity.  The  col- 
lective effort  must  go  hand  in  hand  with  the  individual 
effort,  else  all  is  disharmony  and  divided  interest.  The 
fortunes  of  the  home  are  inseparably  bound  up  with  the 
interests  of  the  state  and  a  development  in  either  means  a 
corresponding  development  in  the  other.  The  enlighten- 
ment or  degradation  of  the  home  means  the  enlightenment 
or  degradation  of  the  state.  How  important  then  must  be 
the  duties  of  citizenship  ! 

I   1RDER  is  said  to  have  been  God's  first  law.     It  is  the 

unifying  and  harmonizing  principle  of  being.     No 

department  of  the  universe,  whether  it  be  animate  or  inan- 

511 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

imate,  whether  it  be  a  mighty  cataract,  a  storm  at  sea,  the 
grouping  of  the  stars,  the  structure  of  the  lily,  the  pulsing 
of  the  emotions,  the  prattle  of  a  child,  is  unen compassed 
by  it.  In  this  respect  nature  is  the  prototype  of  the  home. 
Order  must  prevail  there  as  the  necessary  condition  of 
safety.  The  harmonious  relations  of  husband  and  wife, 
the  obedience  of  child  to  parent,  the  exercise  of  the  domes- 
tic virtues,  are  lessons  of  the  home  that  cannot  fail  to  con- 
duce to  better  citizenship.  The  state  is  the  protector  of  the 
home  much  in  the  same  sense  that  the  parent  is  the  pro- 
tector of  the  child.  It  protects  life,  property,  good  name ; 
it  punishes  the  lawbreaker  and  expunges  viciousness.  In 
both  cases  the  duties  are  reciprocal.  Just  as  the  child 
owes  obedience  to  the  parent,  so  the  home  owes  obedience 
to  the  state  and  both  by  example  and  precept  should  seek 
to  extend  the  virtues  of  law  and  order.  If  the  child  comes 
out  of  his  home  training  properly  imbued  with  the  duty  of 
obedience  he  is  far  advanced  in  his  qualifications  for  ex- 
emplary citizenship. 

In  the  state  having  a  representative  form  of  govern- 
ment the  law-making  power  is  vested,  very  largely,  in  leg- 
islative bodies  whose  representation  depends  upon  issues 
of  public  policy.  This  gives  rise  to  political  parties,  which 
in  turn  oftentimes  force  special  legislation  to  the  detri- 
ment of  certain  classes  of  subjects.  Class  legislation  usu- 
ally defeats  the  highest  ends  of  the  state  and  is  followed 
by  a  train  of  evils  vitally  touching  the  common  welfare. 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

Especially  is  this  true  if  it  is  manipulated  by  selfish  and 
unscrupulous  party  representatives.  Wise  legislation  is 
enacted  for  the  benefit  of  the  whole  people,  not  for  a  fa- 
vored few,  and  when  it  falls  short  of  this,  public  office 
ceases  to  be  a  public  trust. 

The  question  of  legislation  and  administrative  office, 
therefore,  becomes  one  of  the  utmost  importance  to  every 
home  within  the  confines  of  a  state.  It  touches  economic 
interests  connected  with  everyday  life,  significant  alike  to 
the  bread-winner,  the  capitalist,  and  the  savant,  because  it 
demands  above  all  else  the  exercise  of  the  strictest  integ- 
rity in  dealing  with  the  sacred  rights  of  the  people.  It  is 
necessary,  then,  to  a  proper  fulfillment  of  these  important 
functions  that  those  selected  for  that  purpose  be  men  of 
wisdom,  prudence,  and  a  high  sense  of  public  duty  ;  whose 
eyes  are  not  dimmed  by  avarice  and  whose  fidelity  to  the 
interests  of  the  lowly  is  not  impaired  by  official  exaltation. 
When  this  idea  permeates  the  homes  and  finds  permanent 
lodgment  in  the  convictions  of  oncoming  generations,  we 
may  expect  a  heritage  of  civic  benedictions  that  is  now 
scarcely  conceivable. 

The  indirect  influence  of  the  home  on  national  life  is 
probably  as  far-reaching  as  its  direct  influence.  Without 
going  into  a  discussion  of  the  sources  of  the  inspirational 
life  and  health-imparting  touch  of  the  well  ordered  home, 
it  needs  but  little  power  of  observation  to  recognize  its 
beneficent  mission  in  any  community.  Health,  education, 

513 


The  Home  and  the  State. 

affectional  natures,  the  graces  of  mind  and  heart,  frugal- 
ity, a  sense  of  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good  in  life 
and  art,  patriotism,  material  necessities,  and  even  luxuries 
are  all  proper  endowments  of  the  home.  Contact  with 
these  means  elevation,  a  quickened  sense  of  duty,  impulse 
to  renewed  endeavor,  a  striving  after  higher  ideals.  And 
so  the  unconscious  work  of  the  home  goes  on,  leavening 
the  community  and  transmitting  its  influence  to  other  and 
wider  spheres  ;  sending  out  streams  of  charity  ;  fitting  its 
members  for  careers  of  usefulness  and  honor  in  society. 

The  nation  that  is  shortsighted  enough  to  ignore  the 
homes  of  the  people  builds  on  a  foundation  of  sand  ;  and 
the  homes  which  divorce  themselves  from  all  interests  of 
social  and  national  import  are  inviting  an  inevitable  thrall- 
dom  for  themselves  and  their  posterity.  To  the  ideal 
state,  the  home,  pure,  safeguarded,  happy,  is  its  glory  and 
its  crown.  Without  it,  national  achievement  would  be 
empty  and  worthless. 

Philosopher  and  poet  are  alike  in  the  verdict,  that  the 
safety  and  perpetuity  of  any  nation  lies  in  the  homes  of  its 
people. 

:):         :(:         :|:         4;         H:         *         *         *         *         * 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State  ! 
Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great ! 
Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 
With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate  ! 
We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 

514 


The  Home  and  the  State.  * 

What  workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  .steel, 

Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 

What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 

In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 

Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope  ! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 

'Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock  ; 

'Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale  ! 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea  ! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee, 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee,  —  are  all  with  thee  ! 

—  Longfellow. 


515 


CHAPTER  FORTY-EIGHT. 

Trie    Home    in    Literature. 


HE  home  in  some  phase  or  attribute  has  been  a  fruit- 
ful theme  for  literature  through  many  centuries  of 
civilized  life.  Wherever  literature  has  existed  and 
whatever  the  general  conditions  governing  the  family  life, 
some  one  has  arisen  to  extol  the  domestic  virtues  or  berate 
their  corresponding  vices.  The  home  has  been  so  largely 
the  source  of  public  and  private  virtue,  the  well-spring  of 
affection,  the  center  of  the  highest  joys  and  the  scene  of 
the  most  blighting  sorrows,  the  inspirer  of  ambition,  the 
loom  of  fancy,  or  the  anchor  of  hope,  that  the  heart  of 
man  could  not  withstand  its  promptings  nor  his  hand 
refuse  to  write  its  story.  And  so  it  is,  that  whether  we 
turn  to  legend  or  epic  or  lyric,  history  or  philosophy,  the 
poet  or  the  essayist,  we  find  gradations  of  description  rang- 
ing from  the  crudity,  or  perhaps  simplicity,  of  the  primitive 
home  to  the  highest  ideals  of  civilizing  minds.  Its  every 
issue,  from  the  simplest  virtue  or  the  subtlest  inspiration  to 
the  grandeur  of  its  moral  force,  or  the  potency  of  its  united 
influences,  has  found  permanent  place  in  our  collective 

literature. 

516 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

The  most  voluminous  as  well  as  the  most  varied .  treat- 
ment of  the  home  and  its  finer  issues  has  been  at  the  hand 
of  the  poet.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  domesticity  is 
closely  bound  up  with  our  affectional  natures  and  touches 
themes  of  utility,  fancy,  attachment,  or  association  that 
have  become  part  and  parcel  of  our  lives,  and  cannot  be 
detached  from  them  even  through  a  long  stretch  of  years. 
Indeed,  the  poet's  office  would  be  a  poor  one  if  the  inno- 
cence of  childhood,  the  joys  of  youth,  the  blush  and  bloom 
of  maidenhood,  the  glory  of  manhood  and  womanhood,  the 
wisdom  and  beauty  of  old  age,  or  the  myriad  other  inspira- 
tions of  the  home  were  to  be  denied  him.  Moral  grandeur 
and  simple  pathos,  from  the  rugged  nobility  of  a  great  soul 
to  the  tender  simplicity  of  a  child's  prayer,  or  the  sigh  of  a 
maiden's  first  love,  have  alike  responded  to  the  muse  of 
poesy  and  have  been  clothed  in  rhythmic  beauty. 

These  songs,  these  interpretations  of  the  heart,  are 
fruitful  treasuries  upon  which  our  souls  may  frequently 
draw.  They  are  delightful  companions  for  our  varying 
moods  and  troublous  vicissitudes.  In  the  hour  of  exuber- 
ance and  exaltation,  or  joyous  merriment ;  in  reflective 
moments  when  the  soul  is  swept  with  memories,  pleasing 
or  plaintive  ;  in  the  silences  of  religious  meditation  ;  or  in 
our  little  recesses  from  the  homely  duties  and  common- 
place labors  of  the  day,  or  week,  they  befriend  us  with 
their  gentle  counsels  and  cheer  us  with  their  delightful 
solace. 

517 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

The  English  poet,  James  Montgomery,  a  man  of  rare 
and  subtle  poetic  instinct,  pays  the  following  beautiful 
tribute  to  the  home  in  his  famous  ode  : 

There  is  a  land  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 
Wh'ere  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light, 
And  milder  moons  emparadise  the  night ; 
A  land  of  beauty,  virtue,  valor,  truth, 
Time-tutored  age,  and  love-exalted  youth  : 
The  wandering  mariner,  whose  eye  explores 
The  wealthiest  isles,  the  most  enchanting  shores, 
Views  not  a  realm  so  bountiful  and  fair, 
Nor  breathes  the  spirit  of  a  purer  air  ; 
In  every  clime  the  magnet  of  his  soul, 
Touched  by  remembrance,  trembles  to  the  pole  ; 
For  in  this  land  of  Heaven's  peculiar  grace, 
The  heritage  of  nature's  noblest  race, 
There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest, 
Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 
His  sword  and  scepter,  pageantry  and  pride, 
While  in  his  softened  looks  benignly  blend 
The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  brother,  friend  ; 
Here  woman  reigns  ;  the  mother,  daughter,  wife, 
Strew  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  way  of  life  ! 
In  the  clear  heaven  of  her  delightful  eye, 
An  angel-guard  of  loves  and  graces  lie  ; 
Around  her  knees,  domestic  duties  meet, 
And  fireside  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet. 
Where  shall  that  land,  that  spot  of  earth,  be  found  ? 
Art  thou  a  man?  —  a  patriot?  —  look  around  ; 
518 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Oh,  thou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 
That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home. 

>*xAYARD   TAYLOR,    the   poet,   traveler,    and    trans- 
ts     lator  of  Goethe's  Faust,  thus  dwells  on  the  connu- 
bial relations  in  his  poem,  "  Possession  "  : 

"  It  was  our  wedding-day 

A  month  ago,"  dear  heart,  I  hear  you  say. 

If  months,  or  years,  or  ages  since  have  passed, 

I  know  not :   I  have  ceased  to  question,  time. 

I  only  know  that  once  there  pealed  a  chime 

Of  joyous  bells,  and  then  I  held  you  fast, 

And  all  stood  back,  and  none  my  right  denied, 

And  forth  we  walked  :  the  world  was  free  and  wide 

Before  us.     Since  that  day 

I  count  my  life  :  the  past  is  washed  away. 

It  was  no  dream,  that  vow  : 

It  was  the  voice  that  woke  me  from  a  dream, — 

A  happy  dream,  I  think  ;  but  I  am  waking  now, 

And  drink  the  splendor  of  a  sun  supreme 

That  turns  the  mist  of  former  tears  to  gold. 

With  these  arms  I  hold 

The  fleeting  promise,  chased  so  long  in  vain  : 

Ah,  weary  bird  !  thou  wilt  not  fly  again  : 

Thy  wings  are  clipped,  thou  canst  no  more  depart, — 

Thy  nest  is  builded  in  my  heart ! 

I  was  the  crescent ;  thou 
The  silver  phantom  of  the  perfect  sphere, 
Held  in  its  bosom :  in  one  glory  now 
Our  lives  united  shine,  and  many  a  year  — 
519 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Nor  the  sweet  moon  of  bridal  only  —  we 

One  luster,  ever  at  the  full,  shall  be  : 

One  pure  and  rounded  light,  one  planet  whole, 

One  life  developed,  one  completed  soul ! 

For  I  in  thee,  and  thou  in  me, 

Unite  our  cloven  halves  of  destiny. 

God  knew  his  chosen  time. 

He  bade  me  slowly  ripen  to  my  prime, 

And  from  my  boughs  withheld  the  promised  fruit, 

Till  storm  and  sun  gave  vigor  to  the  root. 

Secure,  O  Love  !  secure 

Thy  blessing  is  :   I  have  thee  day  and  night : 

Thou  art  become  my  blood,  my  life,  my  light : 

God's  mercy  thou,  and  therefore  shalt  endure. 

I N  a  similar  strain  sing  Bryan  Waller  Procter,  Richard 
Realf,  Gerald  Massey,  Alfred  Tennyson,  and  James 
Whitcomb  Riley,  selections  from  whom  follow  in  the  order 
given  : 

The  Poet's  Song  to  His  \Vife. 

How  many  summers,  love, 

Have  I  been  thine? 
How  many  days,  thou  dove, 

Hast  thou  been  mine? 
Time  like  the  winged  wind 

When't  bends  the  flower, 
Hath  left  no  mark  behind, 

To  count  the  hours  ! 
520 


The  Home  in  Literature: 

Some  weight  of  thought,  though  loth, 

On  thee  he  leaves  ; 
Some  lines  of  care  round  both 

Perhaps  he  weaves ; 
Some  fears, —  a  soft  regret 

For  joys  scarce  known  ; 
Sweet  looks  we  half  forget ; — 

All  else  is  flown  ! 

Ah  !  —  with  what  thankless  heart 

I  mourn  and  sing  ! 
Look  where  our  children  start, 

Like  sudden  spring  ! 
With  tongues  all  sweet  and  low, 

Like  a  pleasant  rhyme, 
They  tell  how  much  I  owe 

To  thee  and  time  ! 

An  Old  Man's  Idyl. 

By  the  waters  of  life  we  sat  together, 

Hand  in  hand  in  the  golden  days 
Of  the  beautiful  early  summer  weather, 

When  skies  were  purple  and  breath  was  praise ; 
When  the  heart  kept  time  to  the  carol  of  birds, 

And  the  birds  kept  time  to  the  songs  which  ran 
Through  shimmer  of  flowers  on  grassy  swards, 

And  trees  with  voices  .ZEolian. 

By  the  rivers  of  life  we  walked  together, 

I  and  my  darling,  unafraid  ; 
And  lighter  than  any  linnet's  feather 

The  burdens  of  being  on  us  weighed ; 
521 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

And  Love's  sweet  miracles  o'er  us  threw 

Mantles  of  joy  outlasting  time, 
And  up  from  the  rosy  morrows  grew 

A  sound  that  seemed  like  a  marriage  chime. 

In  the  gardens  of  life  we  strayed  together, 

And  the  luscious  apples  were  ripe  and  red, 
And  the  languid  lilac  and  honeyed  heather 

Swooned  with  the  fragrance  which  they  shed ; 
And  under  the  trees  the  angels  walked, 

And  up  in  the  air  a  sense  of  wings 
Awed  us  tenderly  while  we  talked 

Softly  in  sacred  cominunings. 

In  the  meadows  of  life  we  strayed  together, 

Watching  the  waving  harvests  grow, 
And  under  the  benison  of  the  Father 

Our  hearts,  like  the  lambs,  skipped  to  and  fro ; 
And  the  cowslips  hearing  our  low  replies, 

Broidered  fairer  the  emerald  banks, 
And  glad  tears  shone  in  the  daisies'  eyes, 

And  the  timid  violet  glistened  thanks. 

Who  was  with  us,  and  what  was  round  us, 

Neither  myself  nor  my  darling  guessed  ; 
Only  we  knew  that  something  crowned  us 

Out  from  the  heavens  with  crowns  of  rest ; 
Only  we  knew  that  something  bright 

"Lingered  lovingly  where  we  stood, 
Clothed  with  the  incandescent  light 

Of  something  higher  than  humanhood. 
522 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Oh,  the  riches  love  doth  inherit ! 

Oh,  the  alchemy  that  doth  change 
Dross  of  body  and  dregs  of  spirit 

Into  sanctities  rare  and  strange  ! 
My  flesh  is  feeble,  and  dry,  and  old, 

My  darling's  beautiful  hair  is  gray ; 
But  our  elixir  and  precious  gold 

Laugh  at  the  footsteps  of  decay. 

Harms  of  the  world  have  come  unto  us, 

Cups  of  sorrow  we  yet  shall  drain  ; 
But  we  have  a  secret  that  doth  show  us 

Wonderful  rainbows  in  the  rain. 
And  we  hear  the  tread  of  the  years  move  by 

And  the  sun  is  setting  behind  the  hills ; 
But  my  darling  does  not  fear  to  die, 

And  I  am  happy  in  what  God  wills. 

So  we  sit  our  household  fires  together, 

Dreaming  the  dreams  of  long  ago ; 
Then  it  was  balmy,  sunny  weather, 

And  now  the  valleys  are  laid  in  snow. 
Icicles  hang  from  the  slippery  eaves, 

The  wind  blows  cold, —  'tis  growing  late  ; 
Well,  well !  we  have  garnered  all  our  sheaves, 

I  and  my  darling,  and  we  wait. 

O,  I^ay  Tny  Hand  in  Mine,  Dear! 

O,  lay  thy  hand  in  mine,  dear  ! 

We're  growing  old ; 
But  time  hath  brought  no  sign,  dear, 

That  hearts  grow  cold. 
523 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

'Tis  long,  long  since  our  new  love 

Made  life  divine ; 
But  age  enricheth  true  love, 

Like  noble  wine. 

And  lay  thy  cheek  to  mine,  dear, 

And  take  thy  rest ; 
Mine  arms  around  thee  twine,  dear, 

And  make  thy  nest. 
A  many  cares  are  pressing 

On  this  dear  head  ; 
But  sorrow's  hands  in  blessing 

Are  surely  laid. 

O,  lean  thy  life  on  mine,  dear  I 

'Twill  shelter  thee. 
Thou  wert  a  winsome  vine,  dear, 

On  my  young  tree  ; 
And  so,  till  boughs  are  leafless, 

And  song  birds  flown, 
We'll  twine,  then  lay  us,  griefless, 

Together  down. 

Light  of  His  Home. 

Look  through  mine  eyes  with  thine,  true  wife, 

Round  my  true  heart  thine  arms  entwine  ; 
My  other  dearer  life  in  life, 

Look  through  my  very  soul  with  thine  I 
Untouched  with  any  shade  of  years, 

May  those  kind  eyes  forever  dwell ! 
They  have  not  shed  a  many  tears, 

Dear  eyes,  since  first  1  knew  them  well. 
524 


The  ffome  in  Literature. 

Yet  tears  they  shed  ;  they  had  their  part 

Of  sorrow  ;  for,  when  time  was  ripe, 
The  still  affection  of  the  heart 

Became  an  outward  breathing  type, 
That  into  stillness  passed  again, 

And  left  an  unknown  want  before  ; 
Although  the  loss  that  brought  us  pain, 

That  loss  but  made  us  love  the  more. 

With  farther  lookings-on,  the  kiss, 

The  woven  arms,  seem  but  to  be 
Weak  symbols  of  the  settled  bliss, 

The  comfort,  I  have  found  in  thee  ; 
But  that  God  bless  thee,  dear — who  wrought 

Two  spirits  to  one  equal  mind  — 
With  blessings  beyond  hope  or  thought, 

With  blessings  which  no  words  can  find. 

Arise,  and  let  us  wander  forth, 

To  yon  old  mill  across  the  wolds ; 
For,  look  !  the  sunset,  south  and  north, 

Winds  all  the  vale  in  rosy  folds, 
And  fires  your  narrow  casement  glass, 

Touching  the  sullen  pool  below ; 
On  the  chalk-hill  the  bearded  grass 

Is  dry  and  dewless.     Let  us  go. 

Wtien  She  Comes  Home. 

When  she  comes  home  again  !     A  thousand  ways 
I  fashion  to  myself,  the  tenderness 
Of  my  glad  welcome  :  I  shall  tremble  — yes  ; 
525 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

And  touch  her,  as  first  in  the  old  days 

I  touched  her  girlish  hand,  nor  dared  upraise 

Mine  eyes,  such  was  my  faint  heart's  sweet  distress. 

Then  silence  ;  and  the  perfume  of  her  dress : 

The  room  will  sway  a  little,  and  a  haze 

Cloy  eyesight  —  soulsight,  even  —  for  a  space  ; 

And  tears,  yes ;  and  the  ache  here  in  the  throat, 

To  know  that  I  so  ill  deserve  the  place 

Her  arms  make  for  me  ;  and  the  sobbing  note 

I  stay  with  kisses,  ere  the  tearful  face 

Again  is  hidden  in  the  old  embrace. 


I  HE  muse  of  the  poet  is  often  attracted  to  childhood 
^  and  youth — those  most  delightful  integrals  of  the 
home.  The  home  is  incomplete,  bereft  of  one  of  its  sources 
of  supreme  joy,  without  children.  The  sweetness  of  in- 
fancy, the  innocence  of  childhood,  the  laughter,  dreams, 
inspirations,  and  pathos  of  youth,  as  well  as  its  comedy  and 
tragedy,  have  been  prolific  themes  for  the  poetic  mood. 
From  a  truly  wide  and  diverse  literature,  only  a  few  trib- 
utes can  be  here  noted. 

The  quotations  are  from  the  poetical  works  of  George 
Macdonald,  Thomas  Westwood.  Henry  W.  Longfellow, 
William  Cowper,  Lord  Byron,  and  John  Pierpont ;  and  also 
include  the  beautiful  anonymous  poems,  "  The  Farmer  Boy 
at  Home,"  "  She  Woke  that  Morn  in  Heaven,"  and  "Katie 
Lee  and  Willie  Grey." 


526 


The  Home  in  Literature. 
The  Baby. 

Where  did  you  come  from,  baby  dear  ? 
Out  of  the  everywhere  into  here. 

Where  did  you  get  your  eyes  so  blue  ? 
Out  of  the  sky  as  I  came  through. 

Where  did  you  get  that  little  tear  ? 
I  found  it  waiting  when  I  (jot  here. 

What  makes  your  forehead  so  smooth  and  high  ? 
A  soft  hand  stroked  it  as  I  wenl  by. 

What  makes  your  cheek  like  a  warm  white  rose  ? 
/  saw  something  better  than  anyone  knows. 

Whence  that  three-cornered  smile  of  bliss  ? 
Three  angels  gave  me  at  once  a  kiss. 

Where  did  you  get  this  pearly  ear  ? 
God  spoke,  and  it  came  out  to  hear. 

Where  did  you  get  those  arms  and  hands  ? 
Love  made  itself  into  hooks  and  bands. 

Feet,  whence  did  you  come,  you  darling  things  ? 
From  the  same  box  as  the  cherub's  wings. 

How  did  they  all  come  to  be  you  ? 
God  thought  about  me,  and  so  I  grew. 

But  how  did  you  come  to  us,  you  dear  ? 
God  thought  about  you,  and  so  I  am  here. 


527 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Under  my  Wincicrw. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 

All  in  the  summer  weather, 
Three  little  girls  with  fluttering  curls 

Flit  to  and  fro  together  :  — 
There's  Bell  with  her  bonnet  of  satin  sheen, 
And  Maud  with  her  mantle  of  silver-green, 

And  Kate  with  her  scarlet  feather. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 

Leaning  stealthily  over, 
Merry  and  clear,  the  voice  I  hear, 

Of  each  glad-hearted  rover. 
Ah  !  sly  little  Kate,  she  steals  my  roses ; 
And  Maud  and  Bell  twine  wreaths  and  posies, 

As  merry  as  bees  in  clover. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 
In  the  blue  midsummer  weather, 

Stealing  slow,  on  a  hushed  tiptoe, 
I  catch  them  all  together  :  — 

Bell  with  her  bonnet  of  satin  sheen 

And  Maud  with  her  mantle  of  silver-green, 
And  Kate  with  the  scarlet  feather. 

Under  my  window,  under  my  window, 
And  off  through  the  orchard  closes  ; 

While  Maud  she  flouts,  and  Bell  she  pouts, 
They  scamper  and  drop  their  posies  ; 

But  dear  little  Kate  takes  naught  amiss, 

And  leaps  in  my  arms  with  a  loving  kiss, 
And  I  give  her  all  my  roses. 
528 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Trie  Children's  Hour. 

Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight, 
When  night  is  beginning  to  lower, 

Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations, 
That  is  known  as  the  Children's  Hour. 

I  hear  in  the  chamber  above  me 

The  patter  of  little  feet, 
The  sound  of  a  door  that  is  opened, 

And  voices  soft  and  sweet. 

From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamplight, 
Descending  the  broad  hall  stair, 

Grave  Alice  and  laughing  Allegra, 
And  Edith  with  golden  hair. 

A  whisper,  and  then  a  silence  : 
Yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyes 

They  are  plotting  and  planning  together 
To  take  me  by  surprise. 

A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway, 
A  sudden  raid  from  the  hall ! — 

By  three  doors  left  unguarded 
They  enter  my  castle  wall ! 

They  climb  up  into  my  turret 

O'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair ; 

If  I  try  to  escape,  they  surround  me ; 
They  seem  to  be  everywhere. 

They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses, 
Their  arms  about  me  entwine, 

Till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bingen 
In  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhine. 
529 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Do  you  think,  O  blue-eyed  banditti, 
Because  you  have  scaled  the  wall, 

Such  an  old  mustache  as  I  am 
Is  not  a  match  for  you  all  ? 

I  have  you  fast  in"  my  fortress, 

And  will  not  let  you  depart, 
But  put  you  down  into  the  dungeon 

In  the  round-tower  of  my  heart. 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever, 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day, 
Till  the  walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin, 

And  moulder  in  dust  away. 

Ttie  Karmer  Boy  at  Home. 

See  the  merry  farmer  boy 

Tramp  the  meadows  through  ; 
Swing  his  scythe  in  careless  joy, 

While  dashing  off  the  dew  ; 
Bob-o-link  in  maples  high 

Trills  his  note  of  glee  ; 
Farmer  boy  a  gay  reply 

Now  whistles  cheerily. 

When  the  farmer  boy  at  noon, 

Rests  beneath  the  shade, 
Listening  to  the  ceaseless  tune 

That's  thrilling  through  the  glade, 
Long  and  loud  the  harvest-fly 

Winds  his  bugle  round  ; 
Long  and  loud  and  shrill  and  high 

He  whistles  back  the  sound. 
530 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

When  the  busy  day's  employ 

Ends  at  dewy  eve, 
Then  the  happy  farmer  boy 

Doth  haste  his  work  to  leave  ; 
Trudging  down  the  quiet  vale, 

Climbing  o'er  the  hill, 
Whistling  back  the  changeless  wail 

Of  plaintive  whip-poor-will. 

Farmer  boy  is  blithe  and  gay, 

Morning,  noon,  and  night ; 
Song  or  glee  or  roundelay 

He's  whistling  with  delight ; 
Merry  heart  so  full  of  glee, 

Over-full  of  fun  ! 
Hear  him  whistling  merrily, 

Until  the  day  is  done. 

She  Woke  Thiat  Morn,  in  Heaven. 

She  knelt  alone,  that  little  one, 

An  orphan  child  of  three, 
And  whispered  forth  the  prayer  she  learned 

Beside  her  mother's  knee. 
No  gentle  hand  upon  her  head 

In  soft  caress  was  laid, 
No  sweet  voice  murmuring  her  name  — 

She  knelt  alone  and  prayed. 

/ 

The  tear  drops  resting  on  her  cheek 

A  tale  of  sorrow  told  ; 
For  even  she,  that  angel  child, 

Had  found  the  world  was  cold, 
531 


Tlie  Home  in  Literature. 

And  murmured  forth  with  tiny  hands 

Up-pointing  to  the  skies, 
"  God,  take  me  to  my  mamma,  when 

Poor  little  Lily  dies." 

The  angels,  pausing,  heard  the  prayer, 

And  in  the  calm  moonlight 
Bent  down  and  breathed  upon  the  child, 

And  kissed  her  forehead  white  ; 
And  bearing  her  with  songs  of  love 

Through  the  blue  depths  of  even, 
They  laid  her  in  her  mother's  arms  — 

She  woke  that  morn  in  Heaven. 

Maidenhood. 

Maiden,  with  the  meek,  brown  eyes, 
In  whose  orbs  a  shadow  lies 
Like  the  dusk  in  evening  skies  ! 

Thou  whose  locks  outshine  the  sun, — 
Golden  tresses,  wreathed  in  one, 
As  the  braided  streamlets  run  ! 

Standing,  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ! 

Gazing,  with  a  timid  glance, 
On  the  brooklet's  swift  advance, 
On  the  river's  broad  expanse  ! 

Deep  and  still,  that  gliding  stream 
Beautiful  to  thee  must  seem 
As  the  river  of  a  dream. 
532 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Then  why  pause  with  indecision, 
When  bright  angels  in  thy  vision 
Beckon  thee  to.  fields  Elysian? 

Seest  thou  shadows  sailing  by, 
As  the  dove,  with  startled  eye, 
Sees  the  falcon's  shadow  fly? 

Hearest  thou  voices  on  the  shore, 
That  our  ears  perceive  no  more, 
Deafened  by  the  cataract's  roar? 

Oh,  thou  child  of  many  prayer 

Life  hath  quicksands,  Life  hath  snares  ! 

Care  and  age  come  unawares  ! 

Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune, 
Morning  rises  into- noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June. 

Childhood  is  the  bough  where  slumbered 
Birds  and  blossoms  many-numbered  ;  — 
Age,  that  bough  with  snows  encumbered. 

Gather,  then,  each  flower  that  grows, 
When  the  young  heart  overflows, 
To  embalm  that  tent  of  snows. 

Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand  ; 

Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 

One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 

Bear  through  sorrow,  wrong,  and  ruth, 
In  thy  heart  the  dew  of  youth, 
On  thy  lips  the  smile  of  truth. 
533 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Oh,  that  dew,  like  balm,  shall  steal 
Into  wounds  that  cannot  heal, 
Even  as  sleep  our  eyes  doth  seal ; 

And  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  dart 
Into  many  a  sunless  heart, 
For  a  smile  of  God  thou  art. 

'S\veet  Stream,  That  Winds. 

Sweet  stream,  that  winds  through  yonder  glade, 

Apt  emblem  of  a  virtuous  maid  ! 

Silent  and  chaste  she  steals  along, 

Far  from  the  world's  gay,  busy  throng, 

With  gentle,  yet  prevailing  force, 

Intent  upon  her  destined  course  ; 

Graceful  and  useful  all  she  does, 

Blessing  and  blest  where'er  she  goes; 

Pure-bosomed  as  that  watery  glass, 

And  heaven  reflected  in  her  face. 

She  W'alkis  in  Beamty. 

She  walks  in  beauty  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies 

And  all  that's  best  of  dark  and  bright 
Meets  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes, 

Thus  mellowed  to  that  tender  light 
Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 

One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  the  less, 
Had  half  impaired  the  nameless  grace 

Which  waves  in  every  raven  tress, 
Or  softly  lightens  o'er  her  face, 
534 


Tlie  Home  in  Literature. 

Where  thoughts  serenely  sweet  express 
How  pure,  how  dear  their  dwelling  place. 

And  on  that  cheek  and  o'er  that  brow 

So  soft,  so  calm,  yet  eloquent, 
The  smiles  that  win,  the  tints  that  glow, 

But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent,  — 
A  mind  at  peace  with  all  below, 

A  heart  whose  love  is  innocent. 


Katie   Lee   and    \Villie    Grey. 

Two  brown  heads  with  tossing  curls, 
Red  lips  shutting  over  pearls, 
Bare  feet,  white  and  wet  with  dew, 
Two  eyes  black,  and  two  eyes  blue ; 
Little  girl  and  boy  were  they, 
Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Grey. 

They  were  standing  where  a  brook, 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook, 
Flashed  its  silver,  and  thick  ranks 
Of  willow  fringed  its  mossy  banks ; 
Half  in  thought,  and  half  in  play, 
Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Grey. 

They  had  cheeks  like  cherries  red  ; 
He  was  taller,  — near  a  head  ; 
She  with  arms  like  wreaths  of  snow, 
Swung  a  basket  to  and  fro 
As  she  loitered,  half  in  play, 
Chattering  to  Willie  Grey. 
535 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

"  Pretty  Katie,"  Willie  said, — 
And  there  came  a  dash  of  red 
Through  the  brownness  of  his  cheek, - 
"  Boys  are  strong  and  girls  are  weak, 
And  I'll  carry,  so  I  will, 
Katie's  basket  up  the  hill." 

Katie  answered  with  a  laugh, 
"  You  shall  carry  only  half ;  " 
And  then,  tossing  back  her  curls, 
"  Boys  are  weak  as  well  as  girls." 
Do  you  think  that  Katie  guessed 
Half  the  wisdom  she  expressed? 

Men  are  only  boys  grown  tall ; 
Hearts  don't  change  much  after  all ; 
And  when  long  years  from  that  day, 
Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Grey 
Stood  again  beside  the  brook, 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook, — 

Is  it  strange  that  Willie  said, 

While  again  a  dash  of  red 

Crossed  the  brownness  of  his  cheek, 

"  I  am  strong  and  you  are  weak  ; 

Life  is  but  a  slippery  steep, 

Hung  with  shadows  cold  and  deep  : 

"  Will  you  trust  me,  Katie  dear, — 
Walk  beside  me  without  fear? 
May  I  carry,  if  I  will, 
All  your  burdens  up  the  hill?  " 
And  she  answered,  with  a  laugh, 
*«  No,  but  you  may  carry  half." 
536 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Close  beside  the  little  brook, 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook, 
Washing  with  its  silver  hands 
Late  and  early  at  the  sands, 
Is  a  cottage,  where  to-day 
Katie  lives  with  Willie  Grey. 

In  a  porch  she  sits,  and  lo  ! 
Swings  a  basket  to  and  fro  — 
Vastly  different  from  the  one 
That  she  swung  in  years  agone  : 
This  is  long  and  deep  and  wide, 
And  has  —  •  rockers  at  the  side. 


Child. 

I  cannot  make  him  dead  ! 

His  fair  sunshiny  head 
Is  ever  bounding  round  my  study  chair  ; 

Yet  when  my  eyes  grow  dim 

With  tears  1  turn  to  him, 
The  vision  vanishes  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  walk  my  parlor  floor, 

And  through  the  open  door, 
I  hear  a  footfall  on  the  chamber  stair  ; 

I'm  stepping  toward  the  hall 

To  give  the  boy  a  call  ; 
And  then  bethink  me  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  thread  the  crowded  street  ; 
A  satcheled  lad  I  meet, 

With  the  same  beaming  eyes  and  colored  hair  ; 
537 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

And  as  he's  running  by, 
Follow  him  with  my  eye, 
Scarcely  believing  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  know  his  face  is  hid 

Under  the  coffin  lid  ; 
Closed  are  his  eyes  ;  cold  is  his  forehead  fair  ; 

My  hand  that  marble  felt ; 

O'er  it  in  prayer  I  knelt ; 
Yet  my  heart  whispers  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  cannot  make  him  dead  ! 

When  passing  by  the  bed 
So  long  watched  o'er  with  parental  care, 

My  spirit  and  my  eye 

Seek  him  inquiringly, 
Before  the  thought  comes  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

When  at  the  cool,  gray  break 

Of  day,  from  sleep  I  wake, 
With  my  first  breathing  of  the  morning  air 

My  soul  goes  up  with  joy 

To  Him  who  gave  my  boy  : 
Then  comes  the  sad  thought  that  —  he  is  not  there 

When  at  the  day's  calm  close, 

Before  we  seek  repose, 
I'm  with  his  mother,  offering  up  our  prayer, 

Whate'er  I  may  be  saying, 

I  am  in  spirit  praying 

For  our  boy's  spirit,  though  he  is  not  there  ! 
538 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Not  there?     Where,  then,  is  he? 

The  form  I  used  to  see 
Was  but  the  raiment  that  he  used  to  wear. 

The  grave  that  now  doth  press 

Upon  the  cast-off  dress 
Is  but  his  wardrobe  locked  ;  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

He  lives  !     Tn  all  the  past 

He  lives ;  nor  to  the  last, 
Of  seeing  him  again  will  I  despair  ; 

In  dreams  I  see  him  now, 

And  on  his  angel  brow 
I  see  it  written,  "  Thou  shalt  see  me  there  !  " 

Yes,  we  all  live  to  God  ! 

Father,  thy  chastening  rod 
So  help  us,  thine  afflicted  ones,  to  bear, 

That  in  the  spirit  land, 

Meeting  at  thy  right  hand, 
'Twill  be  our  heaven  to  find  that  —  he  is  there  ! 

LxICTURES  of  home  life  are  of  frequent  occurrence  in 
^ — »  both  poetic  and  prose  literature.  Perhaps  no 
other  phase  of  home  life  is  more  kaleidoscopic.  The  homes 
of  the  poor  and  the  homes  of  the  rich  are  depicted  with 
scrupulous  fidelity,  and  the  ever  varying  scenes  bring 
corresponding  changes  of  feeling  into  our  hearts  :  we 
laugh  when  the  scenes  are  provocative  of  laughter ;  we 
weep  with  sympathetic  sorrow  when  we  come  into  the  pres- 
ence of  bereavement  and  death  ;  we  feel  the  calm,  sooth- 
ing influences  of  the  happy  home,  or  wander  in  spirit  back 

539 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

to  the  pleasing  haunts  of  childhood  when  swayed  by  the 
descriptive  scenes  of  some  poetic  wayfarer. 

The  subjoined  selections  embrace  the  following  titles 
and  authors  :  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  Robert  Burns  ; 
picture  from  The  Old  Home  Folks,  James  Whitcomb  Riley  ; 
My  Old  Home,  George  D.  Prentice;  I  Remember,  I  Remem- 
ber, Thomas  Hood  ;  The  Family  Meeting,  Charles  Sprague  ; 
Memories  of  the  Old  Kitchen,  anonymous;  Home  Revisited, 
Alexander  Smith ;  Love  in  a  Cottage,  Nathaniel  Parker 
Willis  ;  The  Old  Barn,  Thomas  Buchanan  Read  ;  Two  Pic- 
tures, Charles  G.  Rogers ;  My  Own  Fireside,  Alaric  A. 
Watts  ;  My  Old  Kentucky  Home,  Stephen  Collins  Foster ; 
Home,  Sweet  Home,  John  Howard  Payne. 

The  songs  of  the  home  and  its  related  sentiments  form 
almost  a  literature  of  their  own.  There  is  scarcely  a  senti- 
ment of  love,  affection,  or  memory  associated  with  home 
life  that  has  not  been  embodied  in  some  lyric  form. 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home/'  and  "  My  Old  Kentucky  Home  "  are 
world-famed  examples  of  this  type  of  song-literature  ;  and 
they  have  carried  their  words  and  melodies  wherever  there 
were  tongues  and  hearts  to  interpret  them. 

The   Cotter's   Saturday    Night. 

*        *       *       *       #       *       * 
At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree  ; 
Th'  expectant  wee  things,  toddlin',  stacher  through 
To  meet  their  dad,  wi'  flichterin'  noise  an'  glee, 
540 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

His  wee  bit  in-gle,  blinking  bonriily, 

His  clean  hearthstane,  his  thriftie  wifie's  smile, 
The  lisping  infant  prattling  on  his  knee, 

Does  a'  weary  carking  cares  beguile, 
And  makes  him  quite  forget  his  labor  and  his  toil. 

Belyve  the  elder  bairns  come  drappiug  in, 

At  service  out,  amang  the  farmers  roun' ; 
Some  ca'  the  pleugh,  some  herd,  some  tentie  rin 

A  cannie  errand  to  a  neibor  town  ; 
Their  eldest  hope,  their  Jenny,  woman  grown, 

In  youthfu'  bloom,  love  sparkling  in  her  e'e, 
Comes  hame,  perhaps,  to  shew  a  bra'  new  gown, 

Or  deposit  her  sair-won  penny- fee, 
To  help  her  parents  dear,  if  they  in  hardship  be. 

Wi'  joy  unfeigned  brothers  and  sisters  meet, 

An'  each  for  other's  weelfare  kindly  spiers : 
The  social  hours,  swift-winged,  unnoticed  licet ; 

Each  tells  the  uncos  that  he  sees  or  hears ; 
The  parents,  partial,  eye  their  hopeful  years; 

Anticipation  forward  points  the  view. 
The  mother  wi'  her  needle  an'  her  sheers, 

Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel's  the  new ; 
The  father  mixes  a'  wi'  admonition  due. 

Their  master's  an'  their  mistress's  command, 
The  younkers  a'  are  warned  to  obey  ; 

And  mind  their  labors  wi'  an  eydent  hand, 

And  ne'er,  though  out  o'  sight,  to  jauk  or  play  ; 

"  An'  O,  be  sure  to  fear  the  Lord  alway  ! 
An'  mind  your  duty,  duly,  morn  an'  night ! 
541 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Lest  in  temptation's  path  ye  gang  astray, 
Implore  his  counsel  and  assisting  might ; 

They  never  sought  in  vain  that  sought  the  Lord  aright !" 

******* 
And  now  the  supper  crowns  their  simple  board, 

The  halesome  parritch,  chief  o'  Scotia's  food; 
The  soupe  their  only  hawkie  does  afford, 

That  'yont  the  hallan  snugly  chows  her  cood ; 
The  dame  brings  forth,  in  complimental  mood, 

To  grace  the  lad,  her  weel-hained  kebbuck  fell, 
An'  aft  he's  prest,  an'  aft  he  ca's  it  guid  ; 

The  frugal  wifie,  garrulous,  will  tell, 
How  'twas  a  towmond  auld,  sin'  lint  was  i'  the  bell. 

The  cheerfu'  supper  done,  wi'  serious  face, 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide  ; 
The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace, 

The  big  ha'-Bible,  ance  his  father's  pride  ; 
His  bonnet  reverently  is  laid  aside, 

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  an'  bare  : 
Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care  ; 
And  "  Let  us  worship  God  !  "  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 
******* 

Then,  kneeling  down,  to  heaven's  eternal  King, 

The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays : 
Hope  "  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing," 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days ; 
There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 

No  more  to  sigh,  or  shed  the  bitter  tear  — 
Together  hymning  their  Creator's  praise, 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear ; 

While  circling  Time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 

******* 

542 


The  Home  in  Literature. 
The   Old   Home   Folks. 

The  clock  chats  on  confidently  ;  a  rose 

Taps  at  the  window,  as  the  sunlight  throws 

A  brilliant,  jostling  checkerwork  of  shine 

And  shadow,  like  a  Persian  loom  design, 

Across  the  homemade  carpet  —  fades  —  and  then 

The  dear  old  colors  are  themselves  again. 

Sounds  drop  in  visiting  from  everywhere  — 

The  bluebird's  and  the  robin's  trill  are  there, 

Their  sweet  liquidity  diluted  some 

By  dewy  orchard-spaces  they  have  come  : 

Sounds  of  the  town,  too,  and  the  great  highway  — 

The  mover-wagon's  rumble,  and  the  neigh 

Of  the  over-traveled  horses,  and  the  bleat 

Of  sheep  and  low  of  cattle  through  the  street  — 

A  nation's  thoroughfare  of  hopes  and  fears, 

First  blazed  by  the  heroic  pioneers 

Who  gave  up  old-home  idols  and  set  face 

Toward  the  unbroken  West,  to  found  a  race 

And  tame  a  wilderness  no  mightier  than 

All  peoples  and  all  tracts  American. 

Blent  with  all  outer  sounds,  the  sounds  within  :  — 
In  mild  remoteness  falls  the  household  din 
Of  porch  and  kitchen  ;  the  dull  jar  and  thump 
Of  churning  ;  and  the  "  glung-glung'"  of  the  pump, 
With  sudden  pad  and  scurry  of  bare  feet 
Of  little  outlaws,  in  from  field  or  street ; 
The  clang  of  kettle, —  the  rasp  of  damper-ring 
And  bang  of  cook-stove  door  —  and  everything 
That  jingles  in  a  busy  kitchen  lifts 
Its  individual  \vrangling  voice  and  drifts 
543 


Tlie  Home  in  Literature. 

In  sweetest,  tinny,  coppery,  pewtery  tone 
Of  music,  hungry  ear  has  ever  known 
In  wildest  famished  yearnings  and  conceit 
Of  youth,  to  just  cut  loose  and  eat  and  eat !  — 
The  zest  of  hunger  still  incited  on 
To  childish  desperation  by  long-drawn 
Breaths  of  hot,  steaming,  wholesome  things  that  boil 
And  blubber,  and  uptilt  the  potlids,  too, 
Filling  the  sense  with  zestful  rumors  of 
The  dear  old-fashioned  dinners  children  love  ; 
Redolent  savorings  of  home-cured  meats, 
Potatoes,  beans,  and  cabbage ;  turnips,  beets, 
And  parsnips  —  rarest  composite  entire 
That  ever  pushed  a  mortal  child's  desire 
To  madness  by  new-grated,  fresh,  keen,  sharp 
Horse-radish  —  tang  that  sets  the  lips  awarp 
And  watery,  anticipating  all 
The  cloyed  sweets  of  the  glorious  festival, — 
Still  add  the  cinnamony,  spicy  scents 
Of  clove,  nutmeg,  and  myriad  condiments 
In  like  alluring  whiffs  that  prophesy 
Of  sweltering  pudding,  cake,  and  custard  pie  — 
The  swooning-sweet  aroma  haunting  all 
The  house  —  upstairs  and  down  —  porch,  parlor,  hall, 
And  sitting  room  —  invading  even  where 
The  hired  man  sniffs  it  in  the  orchard  air, 
And  pauses  in  his  pruning  of  the  trees 
To  note  the  sun  minutely  and  to  —  sneeze. 
******** 


544 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

My  Old  Home. 

And  I  have  come  yet  once  again  to  stray 

Where  erst  I  strayed  in  childhood.     Oh,  'tis  sweet 

To  gaze  on  the  dear  old  landscape  !     Here 

My  thoughts  first  reveled  in  the  wild  delight 

Of  new  existence  !     Here  my  infant  eye 

First  dwelt  on  Nature  in  her  loveliness  ; 

The  golden  Hash  of  waters,  the  bright  flowers 

That  seemed  to  spring  in  very  wantonness 

From  every  hill  and  stream  ;  the  earth 's  green  leaves, 

The  moonlit  mountains,  the  bright  crimson  gush, 

That  deepening  streamed  along  the  skies  of  morn, 

And  the  rich  heavens  of  sunset !     Here  I  loved 

To  gaze  upon  the  holy  arch  of  eve 

In  breathless  longing,  till  I  almost  dreamed 

That  I  was  mingling  with  its  glorious  depths, 

A  portion  of  their  purity  ;  to  muse 

Upon  the  stars  through  many  a  lonely  night 

Till  their  deep  tones  of  mystic  minstrelsy 

Were  borne  into  my  heart ;  to  list  at  morn 

The  gentle  voice  of  song-birds  in  their  joy 

Lifting  on  high  their  matins,  till  my  soul 

Like  theirs  gushed  forth  in  music ;  and  to  look  upon 

The  clouds  in  beauty  wandering  up 

The  deep  blue  zenith,  till  my  heart,  like  them, 

Went  far  away  through  yon  high  paths  to  seek 

The  home  of  thought  and  spirit  in  the  heavens. 

******** 
Oh  !  how  the  silent  memories  of  years 
Are  stirring  in  my  spirit.     1  have  been 
A  lone  and  joyless  wanderer.     I  have  roamed 
Abroad  through  other  climes,  where  tropic  flowers 
545 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Were  offering  up  their  incense,  and  the  stars 

Swimming  like  living  creatures  ;  I  have  strayed 

Where  the  soft  skies  of  Italy  were  hung 

In  beautiful  transparency  above, 

And  glory  floated  like  a  lovely  dream 

O'er  the  rich  landscape  ;   yet  dear  Fancy  still, 

'Mid  all  the  richer  glow  of  brighter  realms, 

Oft  turned  to  picture  the  remembered  home 

That  blessed  its  earliest  day-dreams.     Must  I  go 

Forth  in  the  world  again?     I've  proved  its  joys, 

Till  joy  was  turned  to  bitterness  —  I've  felt 

Its  sorrows  till  I  thought  my  heart  would  burst 

With  the  fierce  rush  of  tears  !     The  sorrowing  babe 

Clings  to  its  mother's  breast.     The  bleeding  dove 

Flies  to  her  native  vale,  and  nestles  there 

To  die  amid  the  quiet  grove,  where  first 

She  tried  her  tender  pinion.     I  could  love 

Thus  to  repose  amid  these  peaceful  scenes 

To  memory  dear.     Oh,  it  were  passing  sweet 

To  rest  forever  on  this  lovely  spot, 

Where  passed  my  days  of  innocence  —  to  dream 

Of  the  pure  stream  of  infant  happiness 

Sunk  in  life's  wild  and  burning  sands  —  to  dwell 

On  visions  faded,  till  my  broken  heart 

Should  cease  to  throb  —  to  purify  my  soul 

With  high  and  holy  musings- — and  to  lift 

Its  aspirations  to  the  central  home 

Of  love,  and  peace,  and  holiness  in  Heaven. 


546 


The  Home  in  Literature. 
I  Remember,  I  Remember. 

I  remember,  I  remember 

The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 

Came  peeping  in  at  morn  ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 

Nor  brought  too  long  a  day  ; 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  night 

Had  borne  my  breath  away  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

The  roses  red  and  white, 
The  violets  and  the  lily-cups, 

Those  flowers  made  of  light  1 
The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built, 

And  where  my  brother  set 
The  laburnum  on  his  birthday, — 

The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing, 
And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing ; 
My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then, 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 
The  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow. 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  fir  trees  dark  and  high ; 

I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky. 

547 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

It  was  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 
To  know  I'm  farther  off  from  heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 


The  Kamily  Meeting. 

We  are  all  here  ! 
Father,  mother,  sister,  brother, 
All  who  hold  each  other  dear. 
Each  chair  is  filled  —  we're  all  at  home  ; 
To-night  let  no  cold  stranger  come ; 
It  is  not  often  thus  around 
Our  old  familiar  hearth  we're  found. 
Bless,  then,  the  meeting  and  the  spot ; 
For  once  be  every  care  forgot ; 
Let  gentle  Peace  assert  her  power, 
And  kind  affection  rule  the  hour ; 

We're  all —  all  here. 

We're  not  all  here  ! 
Some  are  away  —  the  dead  ones  dear, 
Who  thronged  with  us  this  ancient  hearth 
And  gave  the  hour  to  guiltless  mirth. 
Fate,  with  a  stern,  relentless  hand, 
Look'd  in,  and  thinned  our  little  band; 
Some  like  a  night  flash,  passed  away, 
And  some  sank  lingering  day  by  day ; 
The  quiet  graveyard  —  some  lie  there — 
And  cruel  Ocean  has  his  share — 

We're  not  all  here. 
548 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

We  are  all  here  ! 

Even  they  —  the  dead — though  dead,  so  dear; 
Fond  Memory,  to  her  duty  true, 
Brings  back  their  faded  forms  to  view. 
How  lifelike,  through  the  mist  of  years, 
Each  well-remembered  face  appears  ! 
We  see  them  as  in  times  long  past ; 
From  each  to  each  kind  looks  they  cast ; 
We  hear  their  words,  their  smiles  behold ; 
They're  rbund  us  as  they  were  of  old  — 

We  are  all  here. 

We  are  all  here  ! 
Father,  mother,  sister,  brother, 
You  that  I  love  with  love  so  dear, 
This  may  not  long  of  us  be  said ; 
Soon  must  we  join  the  gathered  dead 
And  by  the  hearth  we  now  sit  round 
Some  other  circle  will  be  found. 
O,  then,  that  wisdom  may  we  know 
Which  yields  a  life  of  peace  below  ! 
So  in  the  world  to  follow  this, 
May  each  repeat  in  words  of  bliss, 

We're  all —  all  here  ! 

Memories  of  thie  Old  Kitchen.. 

Far  back  in  my  musings,  my  thoughts  have  been  cast 
To  the  cot,  where  the  hours  of  my  childhood  were  passed. 
I  loved  all  its  rooms,  to  the  pantry  and  hall, 
But  that  blessed  old  kitchen  was  dearer  than  all. 
Its  chairs  and  its  tables,  none  brighter  could  be, 
For  all  its  surroundings  were  sacred  to  me, 
549  . 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

To  the  nail  in  the  ceiling,  the  latch  on  the  door ; 
And  I  loved  every  crack  of  that  old  kitchen  floor. 

I  remember  the  fireplace  with  mouth  high  and  wide, 

The  old-fashioned  oven  that  stood  by  its  side, 

Out  of  which,  each  Thanksgiving,  came  puddings  and  pies 

That  fairly  bewildered  and  dazzled  our  eyes  ; 

And  then,  too,  St.  Nicholas,  slyly  and  still, 

Came  down  every  Christmas  our  stockings  to  fill ; 

But  the  dearest  of  memories  I've  laid  up  in  store 

Is  the  mother  that  trod  that  old  kitchen  floor. 

Day  in  and  day  out,  from  morning  till  night, 

Her  footsteps  were  busy,  her  heart  always  light ; 

For  it  seemed  to  me  then  that  she  knew  not  a  care, 

The  smile  was  so  gentle  her  face  used  to  wear. 

I  remember  with  pleasure  what  joy  filled  our  eyes 

When  she  told  us  the  stories  that  children  so  prize  ; 

They  were  new  every  night  though  we'd  heard  them  before 

From  her  lips,  at  the  wheel,  on  the  old  kitchen  floor. 

To-night  those  old  visions  come  back  at  their  will, 
But  the  wheel  and  its  music  forever  are  still ; 
The  band  is  moth-eaten,  the  wheel  laid  away, 
And  the  fingers  that  turned  it  lie  mold'ring  in  clay ; 
The  hearthstone,  so  sacred,  is  just  as  'twas  then, 
And  the  voices  of  children  ring  out  there  again  ; 
The  sun  through  the  window  looks  in  as  of  yore, 
But  it  sees  stranger  feet  on  the  old  kitchen  floor. 


550 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Home  Revisited. 

Thia  is  my  home  again  !     Once  more  I  hail 
The  dear  old  gables  and  the  creaking  vanes : 
It  stands  all  flecked  with  shadows  in  the  moon, 
Patient,  and  white,  and  woeful.      'Tis  so  still, 
It  seems  to  brood  upon  its  youthful  years, 
When  children  sported  on  its  ringing  floors, 
And  music  trembled  through  its  happy  rooms. 
"Twas  here  I  spent  my  youth,  as  far  removed 
From  the  great  heavings,  hopes,  and  fears  of  man, 
As  unknown  isles  asleep  in  unknown  seas. 
Gone  my  pure  heart,  and  with  it  happy  days  ; 
No  manna  falls  around  me  from  on  high ; 
Barely  from  off  the  desert  of  my  life 
I  gather  patience  and  severe  content. 


Love   in  a  Cottage. 

They  may  talk  of  love  in  a  cottage, 

And  bowers  of  trellised  vine  — 
Of  nature,  bewitchingly  simple, 

And  milkmaids  half  divine  ; 
They  may  talk  of  the  pleasure  of  sleeping 

In  the  shade  of  a  spreading  tree, 
And  a  walk  in  the  fields  at  morning, 

By  the  side  of  a  footstep  free  ! 

But  give  me  a  sly  flirtation 
By  the  light  of  a  chandelier  — 

With  music  to  play  in  the  pauses, 
And  nobody  very  near  ; 
551 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Or  a  seat  on  a  silken  sofa 

Near  a  form  that  is  half  divine, 

And  mamma  too  blind  to  discover 
The  small  white  hand  in  mine. 

Your  love  in  a  cottage  is  hungry, 

Your  vine  is  a  nest  for  flies  — 
Your  milkmaid  shocks  the  Graces 

And  simplicity  talks  of  pies  ! 
You  lie  down  to  your  shady  slumber 

And  wake  with  a  bug  in  your  ear, 
And  your  damsel  that  walks  in  the  morning 

Is  shod  like  a  mountaineer. 

True  love  is  at  home  on  a  carpet, 

And  mightily  likes  his  ease  — 
And  true  love  has  an  eye  for  dinner, 

And  starves  beneath  shady  trees. 
His  wing  is  the  fan  of  a  lady, 

His  foot's  an  invisible  thing, 
And  his  arrow  is  tipped  with  a  jewel, 

And  shot  from  a  silver  string. 

The  Old  Barn. 

Between  broad  fields  of  wheat  and  corn 
Is  the  lowly  home  where  I  was  born  ; 
The  peach  tree  leans  against  the  wall, 
And  the  woodbine  wanders  over  all. 
There  is  the  barn  —  and  as  of  yore 
I  can  smell  the  hay  from  the  open  door, 
And  see  the  busy  swallows  throng, 
And  hear  the  pewee's  mournful  song. 
552 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Oh,  ye  who  daily  cross  the  sill, 

Step  lightly,  for  I  love  it  still ; 

And  when  you  crowd  the  old  barn  eaves, 

Then  think  what  countless  harvest  sheaves 

Have  passed  within  that  scented  door 

To  gladden  eyes  that  are  no  more. 


T\vo  Pictures. 

When  morning  broke  and  baby  came 
The  house  did  scarcely  seem  the  same 
As  just  before.     The  very  air 
Grew  fragrant  with  the  essence  rare 
Of  a  celestial  garden,  where 
The  angels,  breathless,  leaned  to  hear 
The  youthful  mother's  fervid  prayer 
To  God,  to  guard  her  first-born  care, 
Arid  with  what  diligence  each  ear 
Did  listen,  as  her  lips  did  frame 
The  helpless  little  stranger's  name  — 

When  baby  came  ! 
#         *         *         *          #         * 
When  darkness  came  and  baby  died, 
The  misty  grief  that  fell  belied 
The  transient  joy  that  filled  the  room 
But  just  before  ;  where  brooding  gloom 
Now  dumbly  spoke  the  baby's  doom. 
We  hid  away  the  little  things 
Woven  by  nature's  matchless  loom  — 
A  woman's  hands  !     The  amber  bloom 
Waxed  dimmer  on  the  finch's  wings  ; 
553 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

The  flowers,  too,  in  sorrow  vied, 
As  if  kind  nature  drooped  and  cried  — 
When  baby  died  I 


Tvty   O\vn   Fireside. 

Let  others  seek  for  empty  joys, 

At  ball  or  concert,  rout  or  play ; 
Whilst  far  from  fashion's  idle  noise, 

Her  gilded  domes  and  trappings  gay, 
I  while  the  wintry  eve  away, 

'Twixt  book  and  lute  the  hours  divide  ; 
And  marvel  how  I  e'er  could  stray 

From  thee  —  my  own  fireside  ! 

My  own  fireside  !     Those  simple  words 

Can  bid  the  sweetest  dreams  arise  ; 
Awaken  feeling's  tenderest  chords, 

And  fill  with  tears  of  joy  mine  eyes. 
What  is  there  my  wild  heart  can  prize, 

That  doth  not  in  thy  sphere  abide  ; 
Haunt  of  my  home-bred  sympathies, 

My  own  —  my  own  fireside  ! 

A  gentle  form  is  near  me  now  ; 

A  small,  white  hand  is  clasped  in  mine  ; 
I  gaze  upon  her  placid  brow, 

And  ask,  what  joys  can  equal  thine? 
A  babe,  whose  beauty's  half  divine, 

In  sleep  his  mother's  eyes  doth  hide  ; 
Where  may  love  seek  a  fitter  shrine 

Than  thou  —  my  own  fireside  ! 
554 


Tlie  Home  in  Literature. 

What  care  I  for  the  sullen  roar 

Of  winds  without,  that  ravage  earth  ; 
It  doth  but  bid  me  prize  the  more 

The  shelter  of  thy  hallowed  hearth  :  — 
To  thoughts  of  quiet  bliss  give  birth  ; 

Then  let  the  churlish  tempest  chide, 
It  cannot  check  the  blameless  mirth 

That  glads  my  own  fireside  ! 

My  refuge  ever  from  the  storm 

Of  this  world's  passion,  strife,  and  care  ; 
Though  thunder-clouds  the  skies  deform, 

Their  fury  cannot  reach  me  there  ; 
There  all  is  cheerful,  calm,  and  fair ; 

Wrath,  envy,  malice,  strife,  or  pride 
Hath  never  made  its  hated  lair 

By  thee  —  my  own  fireside  ! 

Thy  precincts  are  a  charmed  ring, 

Where  no  harsh  feeling  dares  intrude ; 
Where  life's  vexations  lose  their  sting  ; 

Where  even  grief  is  half  subdued, 
And  peace,  the  halcyon,  loves  to  brood. 

Then  let  the  world's  proud  fool  deride, 
I'll  pay  my  debt  of  gratitude 

To  thee  —  my  own  fireside  ! 

Shrine  of  my  household  deities, 

Bright  scene  of  home's  unsullied  joys, 

To  thee  my  burdened  spirit  flies 

When  fortune  frowns,  or  care  annoys  ! 
555 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Thine  is  the  bliss  that  never  cloys, 

The  smile  whose  truth  hath  oft  been  tried  ; 

What,  then,  are  this  world's  tinsel  toys 
To  thee  —  my  own  fireside  ! 

Oh,  may  the  yearnings,  fond  and  sweet, 

That  bid  my  thoughts  be  all  of  thee, 
Thus  ever  guide  my  wandering  feet 

To  thy  heart-soothing  sanctuary  ! 
Whate'er  my  future  years  may  be, 

Let  joy  or  grief  my  fate  betide, 
Be  still  an  Eden  bright  to  me, 

My  own  —  my  own  fireside  ! 

My   Old   Kentucky  Home. 

The  sun  shines  bright  in  our  old  Kentucky  home  ; 

'Tis  summer,  the  darkies  are  gay  ; 
The  corn-top's  ripe  and  the  meadow's  in  the  bloom, 

While  the  birds  make  music  all  the  day. 
The  young  folks  roll  on  the  little  cabin  floor, 

All  merry,  all  happy,  all  bright ; 
By'm-by  hard  times  comes  a  knockin'  at  the  door  — 

Then,  my  old  Kentucky  home,  good  night ! 
******** 

They  hunt  no  more  for  the  'possum  and  the  coon, 

On  the  meadow,  the  hill,  and  the  shore ; 
They  sing  no  more  by  the  glimmer  of  the  moon, 

On  the  bench  by  the  old  cabin  door ; 
The  day  goes  by,  like  a  shadow  o'er  the  heart, 

With  sorrow  where  all  was  delight ; 
The  time  has  come  when  the  darkies  have  to  part, 

Then,  my  old  Kentucky  home,  good  night! 
556 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

The  head  must  bow,  aud  the  back  will  have  to  bend, 

Wherever  the  darky  may  go  ; 
A  few  more  days,  aud  the  troubles  all  will  end 

In  the  fields  where  the  sugar-cane  grow  ; 
A  few  more  days  to  tote  the  weary  load, 

No  matter,  it  will  never  be  light ; 
A  few  more  days  till  we  totter  on  the  road, 

Then,  my  old  Kentucky  home,  good  night ! 


Sweet  Home. 

Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 

Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home  ! 

A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 

Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with  elsewhere. 

Home,  home,  sweet  home  ! 

There's  no  place  like  home. 

I  gaze  on  the  moon  as  I  trace  the  drear  wild, 

And  feel  that  my  parent  now  thinks  of  her  child ; 

She  looks  on  the  moon  from  her  own  cottage  door, 

Through  the  woodbines  whose  fragrance  shall  cheer  me  no  more. 

Home,  home,  sweet  home  ! 

There's  no  place  like  home. 

An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain  ; 

O,  give  me  my  lowly  thatched  cottage  again  ! 

The  birds,  singing  gayly,  that  came  at  my  call ; 

Give  me  these,  and  the  peace  of  mind  dearer  than  all. 

Home,  home,  sweet  home  ! 

There's  no  place  like  home. 
557 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

NEXT  to  the  poet,  in  the  literature  of  the  home,  come 
the  essayist  and  novelist  ;  with  heavier  tread,  per- 
haps, but  with  no  surer  intuitions  nor  truer  fidelity  in  their 
estimates  of  the  real  and  the  ideal  home.  They  deal  more 
largely  with  its  matter-of-fact  aspects  :  with  precept  and 
example,  its  obligations  and  prerogatives,  its  nature  and 
its  office.  They  are  the  portrayers,  the  critics,  and  the 
statesmen,  so  to  speak,  of  the  home  in  its  social  relations 
and  in  its  essential  structure.  Many  of  the  best  novels  in 
literature  present,  indirectly,  some  of  the  most  notable 
pictures  of  home  life  and  give  them  national,  or  racial,  or 
local  settings  to  be  found  nowhere  else.  They  deal  witli 
home  in  the  concrete  and  invest  it  with  a  portraiture  that 
gives  it  a  strong  semblance  of  reality.  Manners,  morals, 
and  the  results  of  home  environment  are  forcibly  presented 
in  this  way,  because  the  novel  is  often  dramatic  in  form  as 
well  as  in  conception.  The  essayist,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  the  philosopher  of  the  home.  He  descants  on  its  attri- 
butes individually  and  collectively  and  draws  upon  the 
data  of  observation,  intuition,  analogy,  and  general  knowl- 
edge to  support  his  views.  The  essay  is  usually  calm,  con- 
servative, and  eminently  helpful,  and  is  oftentimes  digni- 
fied by  rare  forms  of  genius,  lofty  treatment,  and  wise 
conclusions. 

Besides  the  poet,  the  novelist,  and  the  essayist,  the 
home  has  a  long  list  of  literary  schoolmasters  and  histori- 
ographers. The  scientist,  especially  he  who  is  devoted  to 

558 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

ethnology  and  anthropology,  presents  pictures  of  the  home 
in  many  times  and  climes  ;  the  philosopher  considers  it  in 
its  institutional  and  universal  relations  ;  the  sociologist  and 
economist  relate  it  to  the  state  and  society  ;  the  minister 
and  the  teacher  seek  to  adjust  it  to  the  practical  demands 
of  religion  and  education;  the  moralist  and  reformer  ask 
for  it  regeneration  and  exaltation.  All  have  a  common 
aim  :  to  separate  the  dross  from  the  gold  ;  to  aid  in  the 
transfiguration  cf  life  and  character,  individually  and 
socially,  to  the  end  that  we  may  sometime  realize  the 
actual  embodiment  of  the  ideal  home. 

pfoMAS    NELSON   PAGE,   a  delightful    descriptive 

^     writer  of  Southern  life,  in  his  ''Social   Life  in   Old 

Virginia,"  gives  a  picture  of  the  Southern  home  full  of 

charm  and  detail.     It  is  to  be  regretted  that  its  prolixity 

precludes  its  reproduction  here  in  full  : 

******  *  ***** 
The  life  within  was  of  its  own  kind.  There  were  the  master  and  the 
mistress ;  the  old  master  and  old  mistress,  the  young  masters  and  young 
mistresses,  and  the  children  ;  besides  some  aunts  and  cousins,  and  the 
relations  or  friends  who  did  not  live  there  but  were  only  always  on  visits. 
Properly  the  mistress  should  be  mentioned  first,  as  she  was  the  most 
important  personage  about  the  home,  the  presence  which  pervaded  the 
mansion,  the  center  of  all  life,  the  queen  of  that  realm  ;  the  master  will- 
ingly and  proudly  yielding  her  entire  management  of  all  household  mat- 
ters and  simply  carrying  out  her  directions,  confining  his  ownership 
within  the  curtilage  solely  to  his  old  "  secretary,"  which  on  the  mistress's 

559 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

part  was  as  sacred  from  her  touch  as  her  bonnet  was  from  his.  There 
were  kept  mysterious  folded  papers,  and  equally  mysterious  parcels,  fre- 
quently brown  with  the  stain  of  dust  and  age.  Had  the  papers  been  the 
lost  sibylline  leaves  instead  of  old  receipts  and  bills,  and  had  the  parcels 
contained  diamonds  instead  of  long-dried  melon  seed  or  old  flints,  now 
out  of  date  but  once  ready  to  serve  a  useful  purpose,  they  could 'not  have 
been  more  sacredly  guarded  by  the  mistress.  The  master  usually  had  to 
hunt  a  long  period  for  any  particular  paper,  whilst  the  mistress  could,  in 
a  half  hour,  have  arranged  everything  in  perfect  order ;  but  the  chaos  was 
regarded  by  her  with  veneration  as  real  as  that  with  which  she  regarded 
the  mystery  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 

On  the  other  hand,  outside  of  this  piece  of  furniture  there  was  noth- 
ing in  the  house  of  which  the  master  even  pretended  to  know.  It  was  all 
in  her  keeping. 

********          **** 

It  has  been  assumed  by  the  outside  world  that  our  people  lived  a  life 
of  idleness  and  ease,  a  kind  of  "hammock-swung/'  "sherbet-sipping" 
existence,  fanned  by  slaves,  and,  in  their  pride,  served  on  bended  knees. 
No  conception  could  be  further  from  the  truth.  The  ease  of  the  master 
of  a  big  plantation  was  about  that  of  the  head  of  any  great  establish- 
ment where  numbers  of  operatives  are  employed,  and  to  the  management 
of  which  are  added  the  responsibilities  of  the  care  and  complete  master- 
ship of  the  liberty  of  his  operatives  and  their  families.  His  work  was 
generally  sufficiently  systernized  to  admit  of  enough  personal  independ- 
ence to  enable  him  to  participate  in  the  duties  of  hospitality ;  but  any 
master  who  had  a  successfully  conducted  plantation  was  sure  to  have 
given  it  his  personal  supervision  with  an  unremitting  attention  which 
would  not  have  failed  to  secure  success  in  any  other  calling. 

If  this  was  true  of  the  master,  it  was  much  more  so  of  the  mistress. 
The  master  might,  by  having  a  good  overseer  and  reliable  head  men, 
shift  a  portion  of  the  burden  from  his  shoulders ;  the  mistress  had  no 
such  means  of  relief.  She  was  the  necessary  and  invariable  functionary ; 

500 


Tfie  Home  in  Literature. 

the  keystone  of  the  domestic  economy  which  bound  all  the  rest  of  the 
structure  and  gave  it  its  strength  and  beauty.  From  early  morn  till  morn 
again  the  most  important  and  delicate  concerns  of  the  plantation  were 
her  charge  and  care.  She  gave  out  and  directed  all  the  work  of  the 
women.  From  the  superintending  the  setting  of  the  turkeys  to  fighting  a 
pestilence,  there  was  nothing  which  was  not  her  work.  She  was  mistress, 
manager,  doctor,  nurse,  counselor,  seamstress,  teacher,  housekeeper, 
slave,  all  at  once. 

************ 

What  she  was,  only  her  husband  divined,  and  even  he  stood  before 
her  in  dumb,  half-amazed  admiration,  as  he  might  before  the  inscrutable 
vision  of  a  superior  being.  What  she^really  was,  was  known  only  to  God. 
Her  life  was  one  long  act  of  devotion, —  devotion  to  God,  devotion  to 
husband,  devotion  to  her  children,  devotion  to  her  servants,  to  her 
friends,  to  the  poor,  to  humanity. 

*******          *          **** 

The  training  of  her  children  was  her  work.  She  watched  over  them, 
inspired  them,  led  them,  governed  them ;  her  will  impelled  them ;  her 
word  to  them  as  to  her  servants  was  law.  She  reaped  the  reward.  If  she 
admired  them,  she  was  too  wise  to  let  them  know  it ;  but  her  sympathy 
and  tenderness  were  theirs  always,  and  they  worshiped  her. 

I N  a  different  strain  somewhat  are  the  words  of  Sir  John 

Lubbock,  under  the  title  "Pleasures  of  Home."     It  is 

110  less  real  for  being  the  estimate  of  a  scholar  and  scientist: 

It  may  well  be  doubted  which  is  more  delightful, —  to  start  for  a  holi- 
day which  has  been  fully  earned,  or  to  return  home  from  one  which  has 
been  thoroughly  enjoyed;  to  find  oneself,  with  renewed  vigor,  with  a 
fresh  store  of  memories  and  ideas,  back  once  more  by  one's  own  fireside, 
with  one's  family,  friends,  and  books. 

"  To  sit  at  home,"  says  Leigh  Hunt,  "  with  an  old  folio  (?)  book  of 

561 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

romantic  yet  creditable  voyages  and  travels  to  read,  an  old  bearded  trav- 
eler for  its  hero,  a  fireside  in  an  old  country  house  to  read  by,  curtains 
drawn,  and  just  wind  enough  stirring  out  of  doors  to  make  an  accompani- 
ment to  the  billows  or  forests  we  are  reading  of  —  this  surely  is  one  of  the 
perfect  moments  of  existence." 

It  is  no  doubt  a  great  privilege  to  visit  foreign  countries ;  to  travel 
say  in  Mexico  or  Peru,  or  to  cruise  among  the  Pacific  Islands ;  but  in 
some  respects  the  narratives  of  early  travelers,  the  histories  of  Prescott, 
or  the  voyages  of  Captain  Cook,  are  even  more  interesting,  describing  to 
us  as  they  do,  a  state  of  society  which  was  then  so  unlike  ours,  but  which 
has  now  been  changed  and  Europeanized. 

Thus  we  make  our  daily  travels  interesting,  even  though,  like  those  of 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  all  our  adventures  are  by  our  fireside,  and  all  our 
migrations  from  one  room  to  another. 

Moreover,  even  if  the  beauties  of  home  are  humble,  they  are  still 
infinite,  and  a  man  "  may  lie  in  his  bed,  like  Pompey  and  his  sons,  in 
all  quarters  of  the  earth."  ********  \Ve  may  indeed 
secure  for  ourselves  endless  variety  without  leaving  our  own  firesides. 

In  the  first  place,  the  succession  of  the  seasons  multiplies  every  home. 
How  different  is  the  view  from  our  windows  as  we  look  on  the  tender 
green  of  spring,  the  rich  foliage  of  summer,  the  glorious  tints  of  autumn, 
or  the  delicate  tracery  of  winter. 

Our  climate  is  so  happy  that  even  in  the  worst  months  of  the  year, 
"  calm  mornings  of  sunshine  visit  us  at  times,  appearing  like  glimpses  of 
departed  spring  amid  the  wilderness  of  wet  and  windy  days  that  lead  to 
winter.  It  is  pleasant,  when  these  interludes  of  silvery  light  occur,  to 
ride  into  the  woods  and  see  how  wonderful  are  all  the  colors  of  decay. 
Overhead  the  elms  and  chestnuts  hang  their  wealth  of  golden  leaves, 
while  beeches  darken  into  russet  tones,  and  the  wild  cherry  glows  like 
blood-red  wine.  In  the  hedges  crimson  haws  and  scarlet  hips  are 
wreathed  with  hoary  clematis  or  necklaces  of  coral  briony-berries ;  the 
brambles  burn  with  many-colored  flames  ;  the  dogwood  is  bronzed  to  pur- 

562 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

pie  ;  and  here  and  there  the  spindlewood  puts  forth  its  fruit,  like  knots  of 
rosy  buds,  on  delicate  frail  twigs.  Underneath  lie  fallen  leaves,  and  the 
brown  bracken  rises  to  our  knees  as  we  thread  the  forest  paths."  *  *  * 
******  J^-QJ.  (joes  the  beauty  end  with  the  day.  Is  it  noth- 
ing to  sleep  under  the  canopy  of  heaven,  where  we  have  the  globe  of  the 
earth  for  our  place  of  repose  and  the  glories  of  the  heavens  for  our 
spectacle  ? 

************ 

On  the  other  hand,  when  all  outside  is  dark  and  cold ;  when,  perhaps 

"  Outside  fall  the  snowflakes  lightly  ; 

Through  the  night  loud  raves  the  storm  ; 
In  my  room  the  fire  glows  brightly, 
And  'tis  cozy,  silent,  warm. 

"  Musing  sit  I  on  the  settle, 

By  the  firelight's  cheerful  blaze, 
Listening  to  the  busy  kettle 

Humming  long-forgotten  lays." 

For,  after  all,  the  true  pleasures  of  the  home  are  not  without,  but 
within  ;  and  ' '  the  domestic  man  who  loves  no  music  so  well  as  his  own 
kitchen  clock  and  the  airs  which  the  logs  sing  to  him  as  they  burn  on  the 
hearth,  has  solaces  which  others  never  dream  of." 

***          *          ******** 

Moreover,  how  much  we  suffer  from  foolish  quarrels  about  trifles ; 
from  mere  misunderstandings,  from  hasty  words  thoughtlessly  repeated, 
sometimes  without  the  context  or  tone  which  would  have  deprived  them 
of  any  sting.  Home  indeed  may  be  a  sure  haven  of  repose  from  the 
storms  and  perils  of  the  world.  But  to  secure  this  we  must  not  be  con- 
tent to  pave  it  with  good  intentions,  but  must  make  it  bright  and  cheer- 
ful. 

If  our  life  be  one  of  toil  and  suffering,  if  the  world  outside  be  cold 

563 


TJie  Home  in  Literature. 

and  dreary,  what  a  pleasure  to  return  to  the  sunshine  of  happy  faces  and 
the  warmth  of  hearts  we  love. 

I  HE  succeeding  picture  of  English  rural  home-life  is 

^    taken  from  a  series  of  descriptive  essays  by  Charles 

Knight,  under  the  title  "  Once  Upon  a  Time."    It  is  a  simple, 

though  extremely  vivid,  portraiture  of  a  delightful  type  of 

rustic  life,  and  enjoys  the  colorings  of  genuine  realism  : 

On  one  of  the  roads  from  Windsor  to  Binfield,  in  the  parish  of  War- 
field,  stands,  or  stood,  a  small  farmhouse,  with  gabled  roof  and  latticed 
windows.  A  rude  woodbine-covered  porch  led  into  a  broad  passage, 
which  would  have  been  dark  had  not  the  great  oaken  door  generally  stood 
open.  To  the  right  of  the  passage  was  a  large  kitchen,  beyond  which 
loomed  a  sacred  room  —  the  parlor  —  unopened  except  on  rare  occasions 
of  festivity.  To  this  grange  I  traveled  in  a  jolting  cart,  on  a  spring 
afternoon,  seated  by  the  side  of  the  good  wife  who  had  carried  her  butter 
and  eggs  and  fowls  to  market,  and  was  now  returning  home,  proud  of  her 
gains,  from  whose  accumulations  she  boasted  that  she  well-nigh  paid  the 
rent  of  the  little  farm.  I  was  in  feeble  health  ;  and  a  summer's  run  was 
decreed  for  me,  out  of  the  way  of  school  and  books. 

That  small  bedroom  where  I  slept,  with  its  worm-eaten  floor  and 
undraperied  lattices,  was,  I  suspect,  not  very  perfect  in  its  arrangements 
for  ventilation ;  but  then  neither  door  nor  window  shut  close,  and  the 
free  air,  redolent  of  heath  and  furze,  found  its  way  in,  and  did  its 
purifying  offices  after  an  imperfect  fashion.  The  first  morning  began  my 
new  country  life — and  a  very  novel  life  it  was.  It  was  Sunday.  The 
house  was  quiet ;  and  when  I  crept  down  into  the  kitchen  I  found  my 
friend,  the  farmer's  wife,  preparing  breakfast.  On  one  side  of  that 
family  room  was  a  large  oaken  table  covered  with  huge  basins,  and  a 
mighty  loaf ;  over  a  turf  fire  hung  an  enormous  skillet,  full  to  the  brim 
with  swimming  milk.  One  by  one,  three  or  four  young  men  dropped  in, 

564 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

jauntily  dressed  in  the  cleanest  smock  frocks  —  the  son  of  the  house  had  a 
smart  Sunday  coat,  with  an  expansive  nosegay  of  daffodils  and  wall- 
flowers. They  sat  quietly  down  at  the  oak  table,  and  their  portions  of 
milk  were  distributed  to  each.  Now  entered  the  farmer  —  of  whom  I 
still  think  with  deep  respect  —  a  yeoman  of  simple  habits  but  of  large 
intelligence.  He  had  been  in  the  household  of  the  Governor  of  Pennsyl- 
vania before  the  War  of  Independence  ;  and  could  tell  me  of  a  wonder- 
ful man  named  Franklin,  whom  he  had  known  ;  and  of  the  Torpedo,  on 
which  he  had  seen  Governor  Walsh  make  experiments  ;  and  of  lightning 
drawn  from  the  clouds.  The  farmer,  his  wife,  and  the  little  boy  who 
had  come  to  dwell  with  them,  sat  down  at  a  round  table  nearer  the  fire. 
Sunday  was  a  great  day  in  that  household.  There  was  the  cheerful  walk 
to  church  ;  the  anticipations  of  the  coming  dinner,  not  loud  but  earnest ; 
the  promise  of  afternoon  cricket. 

************ 

Returned  from  church,  the  kitchen  had  been  somewhat  changed  in 
appearance  since  the  morning ;  the  oak  table  was  moved  into  the  center, 
and  covered  with  a  coarse  cloth  as  white  as  the  May  blossom  ;  the  turf 
fire  gave  out  a  fierce  heat,  almost  unbearable  by  the  urchin  who  sat  on  a 
low  stool,  turning,  with  mechanical  aid,  the  spit  which  rested  upon  two 
andirons,  or  dogs,  and  supported  in  his  labor  by  grateful  fragrance 
of  the  steaming  beef.  To  that  Sunday  dinner  —  the  one  dinner  of  fresh 
meat  for  the  week  —  all  sat  down  ;  and  a  happy  meal  it  was,  with  no 
lack  even  of  dainties ;  for  there  was  a  flowing  bowl  of  cream  to  make 
palatable  the  hard  suet  pudding,  and  a  large  vinegar  bottle,  with  notches 
in  the  cork,  to  besprinkle  the  cabbage,  and  a  Dutch  cheese  —  and,  if  I 
dream  not,  a  taste  from  a  flask  that  emerged  mysteriously  from  a  corner 
cupboard.  Then  came  the  cricket  and  trap  ball  of  southern  England, 
yawns  in  the  twilight,  a  glimmering  candle,  the  chapter  in  the  family 
Bible,  and  an  early  bed. 

.     The  morning  of  Monday  was  a  busy  scene.     I  was  round  at  six  ;    but 
the  common  breakfast  was  over.     The  skillet  had  been  boiled  at   five ; 

565 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

the  farmer  was  off  to  sell  a  calf ;  the  plowmen  had  taken  their  teams 
afield.  The  kitchen  was  solitary.  I  should  have  thought  myself  alone 
in  that  world,  but  for  a  noisy  companionship  of  chickens  and  ducklings, 
that  came  freely  to  pick  the  crumbs  off  the  floor.  I  wandered  into  the 
farmyard,  ankle  deep  in  muck.  In  a  shed  T  found  my  hostess,  not  dis- 
daining to  milk  her  petted  cows.  Her  hand  and  her  eye  were  every- 
where —  from  the  cow  stall  to  the  dairy,  from  the  hen's  nest  to  the  fatting 
coop.  Are  there  any  such  wives  left  amongst  us?  Bloomfield  has  de- 
scribed the  milking  time  pretty  much  as  I  saw  it  in  those  primitive  days. 

"  Forth  comes  the  maid,  and  like  the  morning  smiles ; 
The  mistress,  too,  and  followed  close  by  Giles. 
A  friendly  tripod  forms  their  humble  seat, 
With  pails  bright  scour'd  and  delicately  sweet. 
Where  shadowing  elms  obstruct  the  morning  ray  — 
Begins  their  work,  begins  the  simple  lay  ; 
The  full-charg'd  udder  yields  its  willing  streams  ; 
While  Mary  sings  some  lover's  amorous  dreams  ; 
And  crouching  Giles  beneath  a  neighboring  tree 
Tugs  o'er  his  pail,  and  chants  with  equal  glee  ; 
Whose  hat  with  tattered  brim,  of  nap  so  bare, 
From  the  cow's  side  purloins  a  coat  of  hair, 
A  mottled  ensign  of  his  harmless  trade, 
An  unambitious,  peaceable  cockade. 
As  unambitious,  too,  that  cheerful  aid 
The  mistress  yields  beside  her  rosy  maid ; 
With  joy  she  views  her  plenteous  reeking  store, 
And  bears  a  brimmer  to  the  dairy  door  ; 
Her  cows  dismiss'd,  the  luscious  mead  to  roam, 
Till  eve  again  recall  them  loaded  home." 

After  the  milking  time  was  the  breakfast  for  the  good  wife  and  for 
"Mary."     Twice  a   week   there  was   churning  to  be  done;   and    as  the 

5GG 


Tlie  Home  in  Literature. 

butter  came  more  quickly  in  the  warmth  of  the  kitchen,  the  churn  was 
removed  there  in  that  chilly  springtime. 

There  was  no  formal  dinner  on  week  days  in  that  house.  The  loaf 
stood  iipon  the  table,  with  a  vast  piece  of  bacon,  an  abundant  supply  of 
which  rested  upon  a  strong  rack  below  the  ceiling.  Some  of  the  men  had 
taken  their  dinner  to  the  distant  field;  another  or  so  came  carelessly  in, 
and  cutting  a  huge  slice  of  the  brown  bread  and  the  home-cured,  pulled 
out  what  was  called  a  pocketknife,  and  despatched  the  meal  with  intense 
enjoyment.  At  three,  the  plowmen  returned  home.  That  was  an  hour 
of  delight  to  me,  for  I  was  privileged  to  ride  a  horse  to  water  in  a  neigh- 
boring pond.  The  afternoon,  as  far  as  I  remember,  was  one  of  idleness. 
In  the  gloaming  the  young  men  slid  into  the  kitchen.  The  farmer  sat 
reading,  the  wife  knitting.  There  was  a  corner  in  the  enormous  chimney 
where  I  dwelt  apart,  watching  the  turf  smoke  as  it  curled  up  the  vast 
chasm.  There  was  no  assumption  of  dignity  in  the  master  when  a  song 
was  called  for.  How  well  do  I  remember  that  song  of  Dibden  : 

11 1  left  my  poor  plow  to  go  plowing  the  deep." 

That  song  told  of  a  wartime,  and  of  naval  dangers  and  glories  ;  and 
the  chorus  was  roared  out  as  if  "the  inconstant  wind  "  was  a  very  jolly 
thing,  and  "  the  carpenter,"  who  tempted  the  plowman  "  for  to  go  and 
leave  his  love  behind,"  not  at  all  a  bad  fellow. 

************ 

Were  I  to  see  that  homestead  once  more,  I  have  no  doubt  T  should 
find,  like  the  grandsire  of  Crabbe's  poem,  that  "  all  is  changed."  The 
scenes  which  live  in  my  recollection  can  never  come  hack  ;  nor  is  it  fitting 
that  they  should. 

lyl  ILTON  is  known  to  the  vast  majority  of  readers  as  a 
V—  poet  —  by   common    consent   the   greatest  of  all 
poets.     He  was,  also,  a  writer  of  prose, —  a  keen  controver- 
sialist and  an  adept  essayist.     His  very  positive  arguments 

507 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

on  the  "  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,"  which  at  that 
time  stirred  English  society  to  its  very  depths,  is  regarded 
as  a  masterpiece  of  analysis  and  convincing  argument. 
His  style  is  somewhat  ponderous  and  involved,  but  this 
may  well  be  overlooked  in  the  presence  of  a  profound  and 
unique  treatment  of  a  question  of  such  magnitude.  The 
extract  given  relates  to  the  conception  of  the  married 
state  : 

Marriage  is  a  covenant,  the  very  being  whereof  consists  not  in  a  forced 
cohabitation,  and  counterfeit  performance  of  duties,  but  in  unfeigned  love 
and  peace  ;  and  of  matrimonial  love,  no  doubt  but  that  was  chiefly  meant, 
which  by  the  ancient  sages  was  thus  parabled  :  that  Love,  if  he  be  not  twin- 
born,  yet  hath  a  brother  wondrous  like  him,  called  Aateros ;  whom,  while 
he  seeks  all  about,  his  chance  is  to  meet  with  many  false  and  feigning 
desires,  that  wander  singly  up  and  down  in  his  own  likeness ;  by  them  in 
their  borrowed  garb,  Love,  though  not  wholly  blind,  as  poets  wrong  him, 
yet  having  but  one  eye,  as  being  born  an  archer  aiming,  and  that  eye 
not  the  quickest  in  this  dark  region  here  below,  which  is  not  Love's  proper 
sphere,  partly  out  of  the  simplicity  and  credulity  which  is  native  to  him, 
often  deceived,  embraces  and  consorts  him  with  these  obvious  and  suborned 
striplings,  as  if  they  were  his  mother's  own  sons  :  for  so  he  thinks  them, 
while  they  subtilely  keep  themselves  most  on  his  blind  side.  But  after  a 
while,  as  his  manner  is,  when  soaring  up  into  the  high  tower  of  his 
Apogasum,  above  the  shadow  of  the  earth,  he  darts  out  the  direct  rays  of 
his  then  most  piercing  eyesight  upon  the  impostures  and  trim  disguises 
that  were  used  with  him,  and  discerns  that  this  is  not  his  genuine  brother, 
as  he  imagined  ;  he  has  no  longer  the  power  to  hold  fellowship  with  such  a 
personated  mate ;  for  straight  his  arrows  lose  their  golden  heads,  and  shed 
their  purple  feathers,  his  silken  braids  untwine  and  slip  their  knots,  and 
that  original  and  fiery  virtue  given  him  by  fate,  all  on  a  sudden  goes  out, 

5G8 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

and  leaves  him  undeified  and  despoiled  of  all  his  force  ;  till,  finding  Ante- 
ros  at  last,  he  kindles  and  repairs  the  almost  faded  ammunition  of  his 
deity  by  the  reflection  of  a  coequal  and  homogeneal  fire.  Thus  mine 
author  sung  it  to  me  ;  and  by  the  leave  of  those  who  would  be  counted  the 
only  grave  ones,  this  is  no  mere  amatorious  novel ;  but  this  is  a  deep  and 
serious  verity,  showing  us  that  love  in  marriage  cannot  live  nor  subsist 
unless  it  be  mutual ;  and  where  love  cannot  be,  there  can  be  left  of  wed- 
lock nothing  but  the  empty  husk  of  an  outside  matrimony,  as  undelightful 
and  unpleasing  to  God  as  any  other  kind  of  hypocrisy. 

JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE,  the  stern  Scotch  moralist, 
in  his  essay  on  the  "  Philosophy  of  Education  "  has 
this  to  say  anent  the  place  of  the  family  in  the  scheme 
of  development : 

There  is  first  the  Family,  then  the  School,  then  the  University,  and 
alongside  of  all  these  there  is  the  Church.  Of  these  four,  the  first  is  in 
many  respects  the  most  important ;  it  is  in  fact  a  school  instituted  by  Na- 
ture herself,  an  institution  which,  like  all  the  divine  workmanship,  can- 
not be  wrong,  and  which  contains  within  itself,  acting  in  the  most  kindly 
harmony,  all  the  influences,  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual,  that  help 
the  young  human  creature  to  grow.  Wisely  does  Dean  Stanley  say  some- 
where, "The  family  is  the  patriarchal  church,  and  the  father  of  the 
family  is  the  patriarchal  priest";  and  though  it  is  quite  true,  as  Aris- 
totle remarks,  that  no  man  belongs  to  himself  individually  or  to  the 
family  of  which  he  is  a  part,  but  to  the  state,  it  is  equally  true  that  no 
state  institution,  however  perfect,  can  be  vitalized  by  such  a  healthy 
atmosphere  for  youthful  growth  as  that  which  is  begotten  of  the  relation 
of  parent  and  progeny.  Whether  it,  therefore,  be  Plato  that  from  a 
philosophical  notion,  or  Sparta  that  from  a  military  ideal,  wished  to 
abolish  or  subordinate  the  functions  of  the  family  in  the  rearing  of  good 
citizens,  they  run  equally  contrary  to  nature,  and  must  be  condemned. 

569 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

Much  more  are  certain  English  fathers  and  mothers  to  be  reprobated, 
who,  whether  from  laziness,  or  want  of  natural  affection,  or  merely 
from  traditional  bad  habit,  send  their  children  away  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible to  distant  schools;  by  which  a  double  loss  is  incurred — to  child 
from  its  removal  from  the  kindly  atmosphere  of  the  parent,  and  to  the 
parent  from  the  absence  of  those  stimulating  impulses  communicated  to  a 
sympathetic  father  or  mother  from  the  budding  intelligence  and  the  vernal 
freshness  of  the  child.  Let  this,  therefore,  stand  as  a  sound  reason  why, 
in  every  well-ordered  country,  schools  of  all  grades  should  be  planted  in 
such  proximity  to  the  centers  of  local  population  that  there  may  be  no  ex- 
cuse for  young  persons  being  sent  outside  the  family  atmosphere,  till  siich 
time  as  they  are  about  to  be  launched  into  the  large  world,  and  must  learn 
to  stand  on  their  own  legs,  and  shape  their  own  careers,  in  the  crowded 
arena  of  society ;  for,  of  course,  after  a  certain  age  pure  home  breeding 
may  be  as  bad  a  preparation  for  the  business  of  life  as  premature  school- 
ing is  for  the  healthy  growth  of  the  unripe  youngling.  Exclusive  home- 
culture  is  apt  to  breed  either  conceit  or  shyness,  or,  as  Shakespeare  has  it, 
something  homely  in  the  wit  — 

' '  For  home-bred  youths  have  ever  homely  wits ;  ' ' 

while,  on  the  other  hand,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  self-assertion 
and  self-reliance  which  are  forced  upon  English  boys  in  the  conflicts  of 
the  great  English  schools  are  the  germs  of  that  manly  spirit,  pluck,  and 
ready  efficiency  for  which  Englishmen  all  over  the  world  are  celebrated. 

I  PON  this  same  relation  —  that  of  parents  to  children, 
and  conversely  —  Francis  Bacon  discourses  from  a 
lay  point  of  view,  but  with  no  less  wisdom  : 

The  joys  of  parents  are  secret,  and  so  are  their  griefs  and  fears. 
They  cannot  utter  the  one  and  they  will  not  utter  the  other.  Children 
sweeten  labors,  but  they  make  misfortunes  more  bitter.  They  increase 
the  cares  of  life,  but  they  mitigate  the  remembrance  of  death.  The 

570 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

perpetuity  by  generation  is  common  to  beasts ;   but  memory,  merit,  and 
noble  works  are  proper  to  men. 

*         *         *          *          ******** 

The  difference  in  affection  of  parents  towards  their  several  children  is 
many  times  unequal,  and  sometimes  unworthy,  especially  in  the  mother  : 
as  Solomon  saith,  "  A  wise  son  rejoiceth  the  father,  but  an  ungracious  son 
shames  the  mother."  A  man  shall  see  where  there  is  a  house  full  of 
children  one  or  two  of  the  eldest  respected,  and  the  youngest  made 
wantons.  But  in  the  midst  some  there  are,  as  it  were,  forgotten,  who 
many  times,  nevertheless,  prove  the  best.  The  illiberality  of  parents  in 
allowance  toward  their  children  is  an  harmful  error,  makes  them  base, 
acquaints  them  with  shifts,  makes  them  sort  with  mean  company,  and 
makes  them  surfeit  more  when  they  come  to  plenty.  And  therefore  the 
proof  is  best  when  men  keep  their  authority  towards  their  children,  but 
not  their  purse.  Men  have  a  foolish  manner  (both  parents  and  school- 
masters and  servants)  in  creating  and  breeding  an  emulation  between 
brothers  during  childhood,  which  many  times  sorteth  to  discord  when 
they  are  men,  and  disturbeth  families. 

*******  *  *•*** 
Let  parents  choose  betimes  the  vocations  and  courses  they  mean  their 
children  should  take,  for  then  they  are  most  flexible.  And  let  them  not 
too  much  apply  themselves  to  the  disposition  of  their  children,  as  think- 
ing they  will  take  best  to  that  which  they  have  most  mind  to.  It  is  true, 
that  if  the  affection  or  aptness  of  the  children  be  extraordinary,  then  it  is 

good  not  to  cross  it. 

******          *          ***** 

He  that  hath  wife  and  children  hath  given  hostages  to  fortune,  for 
they  are  impediments  to  great  enterprises,  either  of  virtue  or  mischief. 
It  were  great  reason  that  those  that  have  children  should  have  greatest 
care  of  future  times ;  unto  which  they  know  they  must  transmit  their 
dearest  pledges.  Some  there  are  whose  thoughts  do  end  with  themselves, 
and  account  future  times  impertinences.  Nay,  there  are  some  other  that 
account  wife  and  children  but  as  bills  of  charges.  Nay,  more,  there  are 

571 


Tfie  Home  in  Literature. 

some  foolish  rich  covetous  men,  that  take  a  pride  in  having  no  children, 
because  they  may  be  thought  so  much  the  richer.  For  perhaps  they  have 
heard  some  talk,  "  Such  an  one  is  a  great,  rich  man  "  ;  and  another  ex- 
cept to  it,  "  Yea,  but  he  hath  a  great  charge  of  children  "  :  as  if  it  were 
an  abatement  to  his  riches. 

*******          *          #*** 

LxROBABLY  no  casuist,  and  for  that  matter  no  writer 
^.^  of  any  school,  has  written  with  more  force  and  a 
keener  perception  of  the  influences  of  home  culture  than 
Samuel  Smiles,  the  author  of  "Self-Help."  Sir  John  Lub- 
bock,  who  is  no  mean  authority,  places  this  book  among 
his  "  One  Hundred  Best  Books  of  the  World's  Literature  "  ; 
and  rightly,  too.  It  is  a  veritable  storehouse  of  helps  and 
hints  in  character  building,  a  wise  system  of  home  phi- 
losophy, and  should  be  a  courted  companion,  a  positive 
vade  mecum,  for  both  the  young  and  the  old.  The  quota- 
tion selected  is  from  the  chapter  on  "  Home  Power"  : 

Home  is  the  first  and  most  important  school  of  character.  It  is  there 
that  every  human  being  receives  his  best  moral  training  or  his  worst ;  for 
it  is  there  that  he  imbibes  those  principles  of  conduct  which  endure 
through  manhood,  and  cease  only  with  life. 

It  is  a  common  saying,  that  "  Manners  make  the  man " ;  and 
there  is  a  second,  that  "Mind  makes  the  man";  but  truer  than  either 
is  a  third,  that  "  Home  makes  the  man."  For  the  .home-training  includes 
not  only  manners  and  mind,  but  character.  It  is  mainly  in  the  home  that 
the  heart  is  opened,  the  habits  are  formed,  the  intellect  is  awakened,  and 
character  molded  for  good  or  evil. 

From  that  source,  be  it  pure  or  impure,  issue  the  principles  and 
maxims  that  govern  society.  Law  itself  is  but  the  reflex  of  homes.  The 

i>72 


Tlie  Home  in  Literature. 

tiniest  bit  of  opinion  sown  in  the  minds  of  children  in  private  life,  after- 
wards issues  forth  to  the  world,  and  becomes  its  public  opinion  ;  for  nations 
are  gathered  out  of  nurseries,  and  they  who  hold  the  leading  strings  of 
children  may  even  exercise  a  greater  power  than  those  who  wield  the  reins 
of  government.  "Civic  virtues,"  says  Jules  Simon,  "unless  they  have 
their  origin  and  consecration  in  private  and  domestic  virtues,  are  but  the 
virtues  of  the  theater.  lie  who  has  not  a  loving  heart  for  his  child  cannot 
pretend  to  any  true  love  for  humanity." 

It  is  in  the  order  of  nature  that  domestic  life  should  be  preparatory  to 
social,  and  that  the  mind  and  character  should  first  be  formed  in  the  home. 
There  the  individuals  who  afterwards  form  society  are  dealt  with  in  detail, 
and  fashioned  one  by  one.  From  the  family  they  enter  life,  and  advance 
from  boyhood  to  citizenship.  Thus  the  home  may  be  regarded  as  the 
most  influential  school  of  civilization.  For,  after  all,  civilization  mainly 
resolves  itself  into  a  question  of  individual  training ;  and  according  as  the 
respective  members  of  society  are  well  or  ill  trained  in  youth,  so  will  the 
community  which  they  constitute  be  more  or  less  humanized  and  civilized. 
The  training  of  any  man,  even  the  wisest,  cannot  fail  to  be  powerfully 
influenced  by  the  moral  surroundings  of  his  early  years.  lie  comes  into  the 
world  helpless,  and  absolutely  dependent  upon  those  about  him  for  nurture 
and  culture.  From  the  very  first  breath  that  he  draws,  his  education 
begins.  When  a  mother  once  asked  a  clergyman  when  she  should  begin 
the  education  of  her  child,  then  four  years  old,  he  replied :  "  Madam,  if 
you  have  not  begun  already,  you  have  lost  those  four  years.  From  the  first 
smile  that  gleams  upon  an  infant's  cheek,  your  opportunity  begins." 

*********** 
However  apparently  trivial  the  influences  which  contribute  to  form 
the  character  of  the  child,  they  endure  through  life.  The  child's 
character  is  the  nucleus  of  the  man's ;  all  after  education  is  but  super- 
position ;  the  form  of  the  crystal  remains  the  same.  Thus  the  saying  of 
the  poet  holds  true  in  a  large  degree,  "  The  child  is  father  of  the  man  "  ; 
or,  as  Milton  puts  it,  "  The  childhood  shows  the  man,  as  morning  shows 

573 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

the  day."  Those  impulses  to  conduct  which  last  the  longest  and  are 
rooted  the  deepest  always  have  their  origin  near  our  birth.  It  is  then 
that  the  germs  of  virtues  or  vices,  of  feelings  or  sentiments,  are  first  im- 
planted which  determine  the  character  for  life. 


fy  GENERAL  review  of  the  literature  of  the  home 
^would  be  singularly  incomplete  without  the  testi- 
mony of  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  that  rare  woman  of  gen- 
ius and  insight.  Her  love  for  humanity  is  no  more  forcibly 
expressed  in  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  than  is  her  solicitude  for 
the  domestic  life  in  her  essays  and  home  pastorals.  In  her 
"Home  and  Home  Papers,"  we  find  these  glowing  para- 
graphs : 

*****         ******* 

What  is  it,  then,  that  makes  a  home?  All  men  and  women  have  the 
indefinite  knowledge  of  what  they  want  and  long  for  when  the  word  is 
spoken.  "Home!  "  sighs  the  disconsolate  bachelor,  tired  of  bearding 
house  fare  and  buttonless  shirts.  "Home!"  says  the  wanderer  in 
foreign  lands,  and  thinks  of  mother's  love,  of  wife  and  sister  and  child. 
Nay,  the  word  has  in  it  a  higher  meaning,  hallowed  by  religion ;  and 
when  the  Christian  would  express  the  highest  of  his  hopes  for  a  better 
life,  he  speaks  of  his  home  beyond  the  grave.  The  word  home  has  in  it 
the  elements  of  love,  rest,  permanency,  and  liberty ;  but  besides  these  it 
has  in  it  the  idea  of  an  education  by  which  all  that  is  purest  within  us  is 
developed  into  nobler  forms,  fit  for  a  higher  life.  The  little  child  by  the 
home  fireside  was  taken  on  the  Master's  knee  when  he  would  explain  to 
his  disciples  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom. 

Of  so  great  dignity  and  worth  is  this  holy  and  sacred  thing,  that  the 
power  to  create  a  HOME  ought  to  be  ranked  above  all  creative  faculties. 

574 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

The  sculptor  who  brings  out  the  breathing  statue  from  cold  marble,  the 
painter  who  warms  the  canvas  into  a  deathless  glow  of  beauty,  the  archi- 
tect who  builds  cathedrals  and  hangs  the  world-like  dome  of  St.  Peter's  in 
mid-air,  is  not  to  be  compared,  in  sanctity  and  worthiness,  to  the  humble 
artist  who,  out  of  the  poor  materials  afforded  by  the  shifting,  changing, 
selfish  world,  creates  the  secure  Eden  of  a  home. 

A  true  home  should  be  called  the  noblest  work  of  art  possible  to 
human  creatures,  inasmuch  as  it  is  the  image  chosen  to  represent  the  last 
and  highest  rest  of  the  soul,  the  consummation  of  man's  blessedness. 

Not  without  reason  does  the  oldest  Christian  church  require  of  those 
entering  on  marriage  the  most  solemn  review  of  all  the  past  life,  the  con- 
fession and  repentance  of  every  sin  of  thought,  word,  and  deed,  and  the 
reception  of  the  Holy  Sacrament ;  for  thus  the  man  and  woman  who  ap- 
proach the  august  duty  of  creating  a  home  are  reminded  of  the  sanctity 
and  beauty  of  what  they  undertake.  In  this  art  of  home-making  I  have 
set  down  in  my  mind  certain  first  principles,  like  the  axioms  of  Euclid, 
and  the  first  is : 

No  home  is  possible  without  love. 

All  business  marriages  and  marriages  of  convenience,  all  mere  culi- 
nary marriages  and  marriages  of  mere  animal  passion,  make  the  creation 
of  the  true  home  impossible  in  the  outset.  Love  is  the  jeweled  founda- 
tion of  the  New  Jerusalem  descending  from  God  out  of  heaven,  and  takes 
as  many  bright  forms  as  the  amethyst,  topaz,  and  sapphire  of  that  mys- 
terious vision.  In  this  range  of  creative  art  all  things  are  possible  to 
him  that  loveth,  but  without  love  nothing  is  possible. 

************ 

Let  anyone  try  to  render  the  song,  "  Sweet  Home,"  into  French,  and 
one  finds  how  Anglo-Saxon  is  the  very  genius  of  the  word.  The  structure 
of  life,  in  all  its  relations,  in  countries  where  marriages  are  matter  of 
arrangement,  and  not  of  love,  excludes  the  idea  of  home. 

************ 

My  next  axiom  is  : 

575 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

There  can  be  no  true  home  without  liberty. 

The  very  idea  of  home  is  of  a  retreat  where  we  shall  be  free  to  act 
out  our  personal  and  individual  tastes  and  peculiarities,  as  we  cannot  do 
before  the  wide  world.  We  are  to  have  our  meals  at  what  hour  we  will, 
served  in  what  style  suits  us.  Our  hours  of  going  and  coming  are  to  be 
as  we  please.  Our  favorite  haunts  are  to  be  here  or  there,  our  pictures 
and  books  so  disposed  as  seems  to  us  good,  and  our  whole  arrangements 
the  expression,  so  far  as  our  means  can  compass  it,  of  our  personal  ideas 
of  what  is  pleasant  and  desirable  in  life.  This  element  of  liberty,  if  we 
think  of  it,  is  the  chief  charm  of  the  home.  "  Here  I  can  do  as  I  please," 
is  the  thought  with  which  the  tempest-tossed  earth-pilgrim  blesses  him- 
self or  herself,  turning  inward  from  the  crowded  ways  of  the  world.  This 
thought  blesses  the  man  of  business,  as  he  turns  from  his  day's  care,  and 
crosses  the  sacred  threshold.  It  is  as  restful  to  him  as  the  slippers  and 
gown  and  easy  chair  of  the  fireside.  Everybody  understands  him  here. 
Everybody  is  well  content  that  he  should  take  his  ease  in  his  own  way. 
Such  is  the  case  in  the  ideal  home.  That  such  is  not  always  the  case  in 
the  real  home  comes  often  from  the  mistakes  in  the  house  furnishing. 
Much  house  furnishing  is  too  fine  for  liberty. 

********  **** 
One  thing  more.  Right  on  the  threshold  of  all  perfection  lies  the  cross 
to  be  taken  up.  No  one  can  go  over  or  around  that  cross  in  science  or  art. 
Without  labor  and  self-denial  neither  Raphael  nor  Michael  Angelo  nor 
Newton  was  made  perfect.  Nor  can  man  or  woman  create  a  true  home  who 
is  not  willing  in  the  outset  to  embrace  life  heroically,  to  encounter  labor  and 
sacrifice.  Only  to  such  can  this  divinest  power  be  given  to  create  on 
earth  that  which  is  the  nearest  image  of  heaven. 

I  jUOTATIONS   similar    to  these  already  transcribed 

\^  might  he  made  almost  without  number,  so  full  is 

our  literature  of  expressions  relating  to  the  home-     If  we 

576 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

turn  to  Dickens,  we  are  met    with    sentiments  like  the 
following  : 

If  ever  household  affections  and  love  are  graceful  things,  they  are 
graceful  in  the  poor.  The  ties  that  bind  the  wealthy  and  the  proud  at 
home  may  be  forged  on  earth,  but  those  which  link  the  poor  man  to  his 
humble  hearth  are  of  the  true  metal,  and  bear  the  stamp  of  heaven.  The 
man  of  high  descent  may  love  the  halls  and  lands  of  inheritance  as  a  part 
of  himself,  as  trophies  of  his  birth  and  power ;  the  poor  man's  attachment 
to  the  tenement  he  holds,  which  strangers  have  held  before,  and  may 
to-morrow  occupy  again,  has  a  worthier  root,  struck  deep  into  a  purer  soil. 
His  household  gods  are  flesh  and  blood,  with  no  alloy  of  silver,  gold,  or 
precious  stones  ;  he  has  no  property  but  in  the  affections  of  his  own  heart ; 
and  when  they  endear  bare  floors  and  walls,  despite  of  toil  and  scanty 
meals,  that  man  has  his  love  of  home  from  God,  and  his  rude  hut  becomes 
a  solemn  place. 

or,  to  Dr.  Johnson  : 

The  most  authentic  witnesses  of  any  man's  character  are  those  who 
know  him  in  his  own  family,  and  see  him  without  any  restraint  or  rule  of 
conduct,  but  such  as  he  voluntarily  prescribes  for  himself.  If  a  man 
carries  virtue  with  him  into  his  private  apartments,  and  takes  no  advan- 
tage of  unlimited  power  or  probable  secrecy  ;  if  we  trace  him  through  the 
round  of  his  time,  and  find  that  his  character,  with  those  allowances  which 
mortal  frailty  must  always  want,  is  uniform  and  regular,  we  have  all  the 
evidence  of  his  sincerity  that  one  man  can  have  with  regard  to  another ; 
and,  indeed,  as  hypocrisy  cannot  be  its  own  reward,  we  may,  without  hesi- 
tation, determine  that  his  heart  is  pure. 

or,  to  William  Ellery  Channing  : 

The  domestic  relations  precede,  and,  in  our  present  existence,  are 
worth  more  than  all  our  other  social  ties.  They  give  the  first  throb  to  the 
heart,  and  unseal  the  deep  fountains  of  its  love.  Home  is  the  chief  school 

577 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

of  human  virtue.  Its  responsibilities,  joys,  sorrows,  smiles,  tears,  hopes, 
and  solicitudes  form  the  chief  interests  of  human  life. 

or,  to  F.  W.  Robertson  : 

Home  is  the  one  place  in  the  world  where  hearts  are  sure  of  each 
other.  It  is  the  place  of  confidence.  It  is  the  place  where  we  tear  off 
that  mask  of  guarded  and  suspicious  coldness  which  the  world  forces  us 
to  wear  in  self-defense  ;  and  where  we  pour  out  the  unreserved  communi- 
cation of  full  and  confiding  hearts.  It  is  the  spot  where  expressions  of 
tenderness  gush  out  without  any  sensation  of  awkwardness,  and  without 
any  dread  of  ridicule. 

or,  to  Henry  Ward  Beecher  : 

A  man's  house  should  be  on  the  hilltop  of  cheerfulness  and  serenity, 
so  high  that  no  shadows  rest  upon  it,  and  where  the  morning  comes  so 
early,  and  the  evening  tarries  so  late,  that  the  day  has  twice  as  many 
golden  hours  as  those  of  other  men.  He  is  to  be  pitied  whose  house  is  in 
some  valley  of  grief  between  the  hills,  with  the  longest  night  and  the 
shortest  day.  Home  should  be  the  center  of  joy,  equatorial  and  tropical. 
*  *  *  *  Home  should  be  an  oratorio 

of  the  memory,  singing  to  all  our  after  life  melodies  and  harmonies  of  old 
remembered  joy. 

And  thus  the  recount  goes  on.  It  seems  as  though  the  col- 
lective intelligence  and  heart  speak  with  one  voice  con- 
cerning the  superlative  position  which  the  home  should 
occupy  in  our  affections  as  well  as  in  our  social  economy. 
Standing  forth  as  it  does  not  only  as  a  theme  of  literature 
but  with  the  warrant  of  science,  philosophy,  religion,  and 
God  behind  it,  there  is  little  wonder  that  the  ideal  home  is 
the  only  fit  symbol  of  heaven.  This  has  been  very  beauti- 
fully put  by  Jones  Very: 

578 


The  Home  in  Literature. 

With  the  same  letter  Home  and  Heaven  begin, 

And  the  words  dwell  together  in  the  mind  ; 
For  they  who  would  a  Home  in  Heaven  win 

Must  first  a  Heaven  in  Home  begin  to  find. 
Be  happy  here,  yet  with  a  humble  soul 

That  looks  for  perfect  happiness  in  Heaven  ; 
For  what  thou  hast  is  earnest  of  the  whole 

Which  to  the  faithful  shall  at  last  be  given. 
As  once  the  patriarch,  in  a  vision  blessed, 

Saw  the  swift  angels  hastening  to  and  fro,  • 
And  the  lone  spot  whereon  he  lay  to  rest 

Became  to  him  the  gate  of  Heaven  below, 
So  may  to  thee,  when  life  itself  is  done, 
Thy  Home  on  earth  and  Heaven  be  one. 

The  same  conception  finds  expression  in  the  beautiful 
sonnet  of  Dr.  J.  G.  Holland  entitled,  "  Two  Homes"  : 

I  hasten  homeward,  through  the  gathering  night, 
Tow'rd  the  dear  ones  who  in  expectance  sweet 
"  Await  the  coming  of  my  weary  feet, 
And  please  my  heart  with  many  a  lovely  sight 
Of  way-worn  neighbors  stepping  from  the  street 
Through  doors  thrown  wide  and  bursts  of  light  that  greet 
Their  entrance,  painting  all  their  paths  with  white  ; 
And  then  I  think,  with  a  great  thrill  of  bliss, 
That  all  the  world,  and  all  of  life  it  brings, 
Tell  me  true  tales  of  other  realms  than  this, 
As  faithful  types  of  spiritual  things  ; 
And  so  I  know  that  home's  rewarding  kiss 
Insures  the  hope  of  heaven  that  in  me  springs. 


579 


CHAPTER  FIFTY. 


Thie  Old=KashLioned  Home. 


T^  f^ASHION  holds  a,  legitimate  place  in  human  affairs. 

It  is  intrenched  in  a  constitutional  peculiarity   of 

— •-         human  nature,  which  is  a  sufficient  guarantee  that 

it  has  a  right  to  be.     It  is  only  the  abuse  of  fashion  that 

• 
makes  it  repugnant  to  the  better  instincts-  of  man.     When 

the  proper  definition  of  fashion  is  presented  to  the  mind  it 
meets  with  an  instinctive  approval. 

We  would  define  true  fashion  as  the  uniformity  that 
results  from  the  conservation  of  truth  and  beauty.  That 
which  is  true  and  beautiful  is  naturally  conserved,  while 
that  which  is  false  and  ugly  contains  the  seeds  of  its  own 
dissolution.  This  necessary  uniformity  resulting  from  a 
constant  law  is  natural  fashion. 

The  fashion  of  the  world,  for  the  most  part,  is  artificial 
and  false.  It  is  simply  a  temporary  uniformity  resulting 
from  caprice.  There  are  two  elements  that  enter  into  the 
composition  of  the  fashion  sentiment,  and  the  virtue  or 
vice  of  the  fashion  is  determined  by  the  proportion  of  these 
elements.  First,  a  love  of  the  beautiful  and  true,  and 

580 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

second,  a  love  of  novelty.  Any  given  fashion  is  capricious, 
short-lived,  and  generally  absurd,  just  in  proportion  as  the 
latter  element  predominates  over  the  former. 

I  HERE  is  no  more  appropriate  sphere  for  the  display 

V  of  legitimate  fashion  than  the  home  world,  which, 
perhaps,  in  part  accounts  for  the  fact  that  in  all  ages  archi- 
tecture has  stood  foremost  among  the  arts.  And,  perhaps, 
it  is  in  this  field  that  fashion  has  maintained  itself  purest 
from  the  adulterations  of  caprice.  Few  houses  or  buildings 
in  the  construction  of  which  there  is  any  pretense  to  archi- 
tectural skill,  exhibit  a  serious  violation  of  natural  and 
wholesome  taste.  Unlike  the  varying  patterns  of  women's 
bonnets  and  men's  coats,  which  vibrate  from  extreme 
to  extreme,  the  architectural  ideal  seems  to  recognize  cer- 
tain fundamental  and  unchanging  laws  of  taste  and 
harmony. 

It  is  true  that  there  have  been  marked  changes  in 
architecture.  It  has  grown  with  the  race  from  the  rude 
structure  of  the  savage  to  the  imposing  palace  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. 

But  in  every  period  there  has  been  an  evident  tendency 
to  abide  perpetually  by  principles,  as  fast  as  men  have  been 
able  to  develop  them. 

Each  decade  witnesses  modifications  in  the  details  of 
architectural  adornment,  but  this  does  not  touch  the  fact  of 
permanence  in  the  architectural  ideal. 

583 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

It  is,  in  part,  such  permanence  that  makes  the  old- 
fashioned  houses  seem  beautiful  to  us,  for  these  houses, 
with  their  well  sweeps,  huge  chimneys,  and  naked  gables, 
violate  no  essential  law  of  beauty. 

I  O  be  beautiful  and  tasteful  a  thing  must  violate  no 
V  law  of  its  relations.  So  essential  is  this  that  some 
have  defined  beauty  as  "  superior  fitness."  According  to 
this  definition  a  thing  may  be  beautiful  to-day  and  other- 
wise to-morrow.  When  it  loses  its  fitness  it  loses  its 
beauty.  But  no  argument  of  fitness  or  unfitness  can  take 
away  the  beauty  from  the  old-fashioned  fireplace  with  its 
cheerful  flames,  which,  like  a  band  of  gold-capped  spirits, 
half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  chase  each  other  up  the  broad 
chimney.  No  person  of  sensitive  mind  can  sit  without 
emotion  beside  those  century-old  hearthstones  and  watch 
upon  a  stormy  night  "the  great  fires  up  the  chimney  roar." 
We  seem  to  see  reflected  from  the  ever  changing 
golden  sheen  of  the  blaze  the  images  of  merry  boys  and 
girls  at  play,  or  with  their  slates  and  pencils  solving  by  the 
flickering  light  the  problems  assigned  them  by  the  old 
schoolmaster,  who  long  ago  dismissed  the  school  for  the 
last  time.  Oh  !  the  visions  that  we  see  in  the  fire,  visions 
of  the  forgotten  long  ago,  of  joys  and  sorrows  strangely 
blent ;  visions  of  romping  boyhood  and  laughing  girlhood, 
visions  of  love's  first  dream,  of  eyes  that  caught  the  broken 
story  from  trembling  lips  that  could  not  speak  it ;  visions 

584 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

of  the  bridal  queen  crowned  with  coronet  of  maiden 
blushes;  visions  of  life's  stern  battle  ;  visions  of  sorrow's 
first  shadow,  of  red-eyed  grief  and  midnight  watchings  ; 
visions  of  all  life's  checkered  pathway,  as  it  winds  through 
flowery  fields  or  over  pain's  hot  desert  sands,  through  the 
fragrant  spice  groves  of  joy  or  over  sorrow's  mountain 
crags. 

We  would  not  proclaim  ourselves  "fogies"  ;  far  from 
it.  We  are  enthusiasts  in  every  conceivable  species  of 
human  reform,  and  yet  we  are  compelled  to  consider  the 
old-fashioned  home  as  the  typical  representative  of  the 
natural  institution  of  home.  We  speak  now,  not  so  much 
with  reference  to  the  mere  outward  difference  of  architec- 
tural designs,  or  interior  devisement,  which  superficially 
distinguishes  the  old  from  the  new  fashioned  home,  but 
more  particularly  with  reference  to  those  inner  and  vital 
differences  that  distinguish  the  two  modes  of  home  life. 

I T  is  painful  to  know  that  the  modern  home  life  differs 
from  the  old-fashioned   chiefly  in  its  departure  from 
the  standard  of  nature. 

There  is  hardly  a  feature  of  the  modern  home  that 
does  not  proclaim  itself  to  the  most  casual  observer  a 
defiant  breach  of  natural  law.  Let  us  imagine  ourselves 
members  of  the  board  of  health,  and  in  that  capacity  let  us 
inspect  a  typical  modern  home.  A  servant  responds  to  the 
ringing  of  the  bell  and  informs  us  that  "  Mrs.  Uptodate  is 

585 


The  Old- Fashioned  Home. 

not  in,"  meaning  simply  that  she  has  not  yet — at  ten 
o'clock  —  risen.  This  is  simply  a  patent  process  of  elonga- 
tion to  which  the  truth  is  subjected  to  meet  the  demands 
of  fashionable  society.  Of  course  it  is  not  at  all  injurious 
to  truth.  When  we  make  known  our  official  business  we 
are  admitted,  and  the  servant  shows  us  to  the  kitchen, 
where  we  learn  nothing  in  particular  except  the  most 
approved  process  of  shortening  human  life,  and  of  destroy- 
ing the  teeth,  morals,  and  what  not  of  the  next  generation. 
We  next  enter  the  sitting  room.  We  are  almost  nauseated 
by  the  sickening  odor  of  coal  gas  that  is  fast  escaping 

4 

through  the  open  door  of  the  coal  stove  while  the  back 
damper  is  closed.  The  servant  assures  us,  however,  that 
it  is  nothing  unusual,  and  declares  she  "can't  smell  a 
thing."  We  go  to  the  window  and  try  to  raise  it  unob- 
served, but  to  no  purpose.  There  are  two  windows,  and 
the  outside  one  doesn't  "  shove  up."  The  house,  of  course, 
has  all  the  modern  improvements,  including  that  beautiful 
invention  of  double  windows,  which  has,  perhaps,  length- 
ened the  "  consumption  column  "  in  the  statistics  of  human 
mortality  more  than  any  other  invention  of  man.  "  There 
is  a  register  in  the  chimney,  but  Mrs.  Uptodate  says  the 
room  doesn't  heat  up  so  well  when  it  is  open,  so  we  keep  it 
closed  all  the  time." 

Do  the  children  frequently  have  colds  with  sick  head- 
ache ?  "  O,  and  to  be  shure  they  do  most  all  the  time,  but 
Mrs.  Uptodate  thinks  it  is  because  the  house  isn't  war-rm 

586 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

enough,  and  shure  it  looks  rasonable.  She's  put  a  coal 
stove  in  their  slapin'  room."  As  we  find  it  impossible  to 
answer  Bridget's  argument,  we  will  proceed  to  inspect  the 
parlor.  As  we  enter  we  shudder  with  a  sensation  of  damp- 
ness. Bridget  draws  aside  the  curtain,  and  raising  the 
window  a  few  inches  turns  the  slats  of  one  blind  on  the 
north  side.  "  Mrs.  Uptodate  says  we  mustn't  let  the  light 
shine  in  the  parlor,  because  it  fades  the  car-rpet.  There 
ain't  been  no  drop  o'  light  in  the  room  afore  since  six 
months  ago." 

Let  us  leave  the  parlor  in  its  darkened  beauty  and  go 
to  the  children's  sleeping  room,  where  the  coal  stove  has 
been  set  up  to  keep  the  little  creatures  from  "  catching 
cold."  We  find  a  room  nine  feet  by  twelve  with  one  win- 
dow. Of  course  the  door  must  be  kept  closed  during  the 
night  that  the  coal  stove  may  be  effectual  in  preventing 
the  children  from  taking  cold.  Economy  dictates  that  it 
isn't  necessary  that  the  coal  stove  should  do  it  all,  so  a 
double  window  is  put  on  and  cotton  is  tucked  in  around  the 
joints  ;  anything  to  keep  the  "cold  air  out." 

One  of  the  most  ingenious  and  economical  inventions  of 
modern  times  is  the  process  of  warming  our  dwellings  with 
our  own  breath.  Air  that  has  been  breathed  once  or  twice 
is  apt  to  be  a  little  unwholesome  ;  but  then  it  saves  coal, 
and  so  we  can  afford  to  have  sick  headaches,  and  to  rise  in 
the  morning  with  heavy,  dull  spirits,  with  furred  tongues 
and  yellow  skins. 

587 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

\  *  |E  have  not  overdrawn  our  picture  of  the  modern 
^  home.  Nor  have  we  selected  one  of  the  fashiona- 
ble homes  of  the  rich  ;  for  these,  indeed,  in  many  respects, 
approach  the  old-fashioned  home.  They  generally  have 
more  spacious  sleeping  rooms,  and  the  greater  size  of  such 
houses  secures  better  ventilation  throughout.  It  is  the 
average  home  of  the  great  middle  class  that  we  have 
described,  though,  perhaps,  we  have  made  a  freer  use  of 
hyperbole  than  is  consistent  with  ordinary  descriptive 
writing.  We  do  not  hesitate  to  express  our  conviction  that 
the  unhygienic  principles  involved  in  the  construction  and 
management  of  the  modern  home  are  the  prime  causes  of 
consumption  and  dyspepsia,  those  two  fell  scourges  to  the 
human  family,  from  which  probably  a  far  greater  number 
perish  than  from  the  stereotyped  curses  of  "war,  pesti- 
lence, and  famine." 

If  society  has  a  moral  right  to  compel  men  to  train 
themselves  in  the  use  of  sword  and  musket,  in  order  that 
they  may  be  able  to  meet  and  repel  the  onslaughts  of  war 
and  conquest,  and  thus  save  their  children  from  bondage 
and  disgrace,  why  has  it  not  also  a  right  to  compel  them  to, 
so  train  and  govern  their  bodies  hygienically  as  to  repel 
the  fiercer  onslaught  of  foul  disease,  and  thus  save  their 
children  from  the  darker  bondage  of  inherited  weakness 
and  premature  death  ?  There  may  be  a  shade  of  the 
ludicrous  in  our  claim,  but  we  believe  that  society  has  the 
same  moral  right  to  prohibit,  in  the  construction  of  all  new 

588 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

dwellings,  the  nine  by  twelve  "bedroom"  that  it  has  to 
prohibit  the  grogshop ;  the  same  right  to  enforce  ventila- 
tion and  all  the  general  laws  of  hygiene  in  our  private 
dwellings,  that  it  has  to  make  laws  for  the  prevention  of 
suicide  and  infanticide. 

Such  an  exercise  of  civil  authority  would  violate  no 
natural  right  of  man.  Man  belongs  not  to  himself, 
but  to  the  world.  The  wheel  is  not  its  own  but  the 
engine's.  We  possess  but  one  natural  right  vouchsafed 
to  us  by  our  Maker,  the  right  to  make  the  most  of  our- 
selves, and  all  sub-divisions  of  this  one  great  right  are 
inseparably  connected  with  corresponding  duties.  Indeed, 
one  can  have  no  natural  right  to  perform  a  single  act 
which  it  is  not  his  duty  to  perform.  This  may  not  at  first 
receive  the  ready  assent  of  the  general  reader,  especially 
of  the  American,  who  has  been  accustomed  to  give  such 
extravagant  definitions  to  the  word  liberty.  But  upon 
careful  thought  we  trust  that  all  will  finally  admit  its 
truthfulness.  Probably  no  human  being  is  able  at  any 
time  to  tell  just  what  kind  or  extent  of  action  is  allowed 
by  his  natural  right,  or  demanded  by  this  natural  duty. 
We  surely  have  a  natural  right  to  eat  just  that  quantity 
of  food  that  will  meet  the  requirements  of  our  physical 
nature,  no  more,  no  less;  and  no  one  would  contend  that 
the  verdict  of  duty,  if  the  exact  bounds  could  be  ascer- 
tained, would  not  be  precisely  the  same. 

This  illustration  is  no  more  obvious  than  that  which 

589 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

it  is  intended  to  illustrate,  viz.,  the  application  of  this 
principle  to  every  function  and  relation  of  life.  When  one 
ceases  to  act  in  accordance  with  this  principle,  and  in 
so  doing  falls  below  the  aggregate  intelligence  of  society, 
he  becomes  a  proper  subject  for  civil  guardianship  and 
governmental  regulation.  Few  question  the  right  of  soci- 
ety to  prevent  a  man  from  taking  into  his  stomach  poison 
liquid  in  the  form  of  alcohol,  but  why  should  they  question 
its  right  to  prevent  him  from  taking  into  his  lungs  poison 
gas  in  the  form  of  air  that  has  been  robbed  of  its  oxygen 
and  charged  with  carbonic  acid  by  the  vital  demands  of 
half  a  dozen  persons  in  a  tight,  unventilated  room,  its 
atmosphere,  perhaps,  still  further  vitiated  by  the  liberal 
contributions  of  a  kerosene  lamp  or  two  ?  Are  fluids  and 
gases  so  different  in  their  nature  that  society  has  a  moral 
right  to  prohibit  the  use  of  the  poison  fluid  of  the  grog- 
shop, while  it  has  no  right  to  prohibit  the  free  use  of  the 
deadly  gas  of  the  small,  unventilated  sleeping  room  ? 

I  1UR  condemnation  of  the  unhygienic  features  of  the 

modern   home  may  seem    somewhat    strange,   but, 

while  we  acknowledge  the  views  to  be  radical  and  the 

language  strong,  we  are  sure  they  do  no  injustice  to  our 

convictions. 

While  we  believe  emphatically  in  all  the  civilizing 
forces ;  while  we  would  bid  Godspeed  to  every  useful 
invention  ;  and  while  our  faith  in  man's  progression  and 

590 


Tlie  Old- Fashioned  Home. 

ultimate  achievements  amounts  almost  to  fanaticism,  — 
we  must  still  contend  that  the  modern  home  in  most  of  its 
features  is  a  retrogression  and  not  an  advancement. 

Yet  this  is  not  necessary.  Nor  is  it  due  to  the  refine- 
ment of  the  modern  home.  It  is  not  attributable  to  the 
piano  and  the  cooking  range,  to  the  fine  pictures,  the  deco- 
rations, the  drapery  and  the  beauty,  but  to  the  unhygienic 
influences,  the  carbonic  acid  and  the  enervating  luxury. 

The  people  of  America  need  entertain  no  fears  from 
the  frequent  ebullitions  of  political  passion.  They  are  the 
necessary  accompaniments  of  self-government.  But  on 
the  garnished  walls  of  ten  thousand  private  houses  there 
appears,  to  him  who  can  read  it,  a  handwriting  that  hints 
at  possible  doom.  In  the  dim,  uncertain  shadows  of  the 
hour  a  finger  points  to  the  deserted  banquet  halls  of  Nin- 
eveh and  Babylon  and  Persia,  and  in  all  languid  lux- 
ury there  is  a  sickening  suggestion  of  the  feast-couch, 
Rome's  death-bed.  The  same  spell  of  public  and  private 
effeminacy  will  settle  that  has  prefaced  the  doom  of  every 
perished  empire  whose  pathetic  wrecks  now  strew  the 
shores  of  time.  Physical  weakness,  especially  of  women, 
in  every  age  has  been  the  almost  invariable  prognostic  of 
national  downfall,  and  who  will  deny  that  there  are  indica- 
tions in  this  direction  now  that  may  justly  excite  alarm  ? 

We  have  no  sympathy  with  those  mournful,  dyspeptic 
alarmists  who  are  forever  sounding  the  signal  of  "  trouble 
ahead,"  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  listening  to  the  music  of 

591 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

their  own  blast.  And  yet  we  believe  there  are  forces  at 
work  in  modern  society  that  should  cause  thoughtful  men 
and  women  seriously  to  reflect. 

We  have  not  criticised  the  modern  home  thus  severely 
because  it  is  a  modern  home.  We  condemn  only  those  evil 
features  that  constitute  no  necessary  part  of  the  home. 

The  more  sensible  the  home  the  better.  The  world's 
latest  thought  should  be  its  best,  and  we  can  truly  say 
from  our  heart,  God  bless  the  noble  inventors  who  are  lift- 
ing the  burden  of  drudgery  from  the  shoulders  of  women  ! 
We  are  glad  that  the  old-fashioned  loom  has  been  used  for 
kindling  wood.  We  are  glad  that  spinning  no  longer  con- 
stitutes the  chief  occupation  of  our  girls  ;  and  yet  if  this 
release  from  the  bondage  of  labor  results  only  in  idleness, 
as  it  does  in  too  many  homes,  better  a  thousand  times  that 
the  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel  should  again  be  heard  ! 

If  the  modern  home  with  its  many  true  improvements 
would  conserve  the  naturalness  of  the  old-fashioned  home, 
we  should  have  one  that  would  be  typical  of  all  that  hope 
points  to  in  the  great  hereafter,  but  until  it  does  this  we 
must  regard  the  old-fashioned  home  of  our  fathers  as  the 
best  and  truest  type  of  that  which  we  hope  awaits  us. 

"  Isolated,  bleak,  and  dreary,  stands  the  old  house  on  the  hill. 

Rooms  that  rang  with  mirth  and  music  now  are  empty,  silent,  still. 
Desolation  reigns  supremely,  and  the  old  house,  bare  and  lone, 
Stands  with   many  a  broken  window,  through  which   cheerful   lights 
once  shone. 

592 


The  Old-Fashioned  Home. 

"  Wrapped  in  dust  and  hung  with  cobwebs,  how  each  empty,  low-ceiled 

room 

Seemingly  resents  in  echoes  every  loudly  spoken  tone. 
Houses  old  and  bare  and  lonely,  thickly  o'er  this  land  of  ours, 
Stand,  like  long-forgotten  headstones,  'midst  their  tangled  growth  of 

flowers. 
******          ****** 

"  Never  then  forsake  the  roof  tree,  from  its  shelter  do  not  roam  ; 
Like  a  sacred  shrine  of  incense,  keep  the  altar  fires  of  home. 
For  of  all  the  piteous  ruins,  not  one  comes  so  near  my  heart 
As  some  old  deserted  homestead  where  once  life  and  love  had  part." 


593 


CHAPTER  FIFTY. 

Our    Last   Karevsrell   of   Home. 


N  the  programme  of  every  human  life  is  writ- 
ten "final  scene"  —monitory  of  the  hurried  fare- 
well, the  choking  sob,  and  the  parting  forever. 
No  matter  how  bright  has  been  the  rainbow  of  youth's 
promise,  no  matter  how  fair  and  serene  life's  course  has 
been,  the  end  of  that  life  shall  be  sobs  and  tears.  But  one 
is  never  called  from  his  earthly  home  until  he  is  willing  to 
leave  it.  He  is  persuaded,  instead  of  compelled,  to  seek 
another  home.  We  refer,  of  course,  to  the  process  of  a 
natural  death,  resulting  simply  from  old  age.  No  pro- 
vision has  been  made  to  lighten  the  agonies  of  suicide,  or 
of  an  untimely  death.  The  principle,  however,  which  we 
shall  mention,  seems  even  in  these  cases  to  act  to  a  certain 
extent,  but  it  is  only  during  the  actual  process  of  death. 
It  does  not  lessen  that  instinctive  tenacity  to  life  that 
makes  the  very  thought  of  death  a  source  of  sorrow. 

It  has  been  said  that  one  may  live  as  long  as  he 
chooses,  and  as  a  rule  this  is  true,  for  as  a  rule  one  may, 
by  temperance  and  moderation,  die  a  natural  death  ;  that 

is,  by  the  gradual   decay   of  all  the  powers.     When  this 

594 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

is  the  case  the  instinct  of  life  is  one  of  the  first  to  die. 
Hence  when  one  cannot  live  any  longer,  he  will  not  choose 
to  live.  This  is  the  means  by  which  God  persuades  us  to 
leave  our  earthly  home.  He  convinces  us  and  makes  us 
feel  that  it  would  be  better  for  us  to  leave  the  home  that 
no  longer  has  any  charm  for  us.  He  takes  away  the 
instinctive  love  of  life  and  transfers  the  home  love. 

We  have  said  that  the  love  of  life  is  one  of  the  first 
instincts  to  die.  It  would,  doubtless,  be  the  first  were  it 
not  for  the  fact  that  nature  preserves  it  as  long  as  it  can 
be  of  any  use  to  us.  It  is  this  same  instinct  that  gives  the 
power  to  resist  death,  and  to  live  amid  influences  that 
tend  to  destroy  life.  Without  this  we  could  not  live  an 
hour.  Now  it  would  not  be  wise  in  nature  to  allow  this 
instinct  to  die  so  long  as  we  are  capable  of  living  any 
longer.  But  no  sooner  has  this  stage  been  passed  than  all 
dread  of  death  at  once  ceases,  and  the  person  softly  sinks 
into  the  arms  of  death  as  the  child  sinks  into  slumber. 

The  death  of  this  instinct  is  not  instantaneous,  for  it 
is  subject  to  the  same  law  of  decay  as  the  other  powers. 
But  its  death  always  precedes  that  of  the  general  system. 

The  testimony  of  the  old  will  confirm  this  doctrine, 
that  the  love  of  life  and  the  fear  of  death  gradually  vanish 
as  they  approach  life's  goal.  The  poet  has  said,  "  There  is 
a  beauty  in  woman's  decay."  But  this  beauty  of  decay  is 
not  confined  to  woman.  There  is  a  beauty  in  the  decay  of 
humanity.  The  law  of  beauty  is  the  law  of  completeness. 

595 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

It  is  embodied  in  the  principle  of  the  circle.  All  forms 
of  beauty  may  be  reduced  to  this  principle.  Hence  old 
age  must  be  the  very  symbol  and  embodiment  of  beauty, 
for  is  it  not  the  typical  example  of  completeness  ?  It  rep- 
resents the  completion  of  a  life's  experience.  It  is  the  tri- 
umphant period  in  which  the  arcs  of  the  great  circle  are 
closing  with  a  divine  beauty  that  appeals  not  to  the  eye, 
but  to  the  soul.  It  must  be  felt  by  the  spirit  that  can  per- 
ceive a  beauty  in  the  universal  plan. 

ji  fE  are  so  constituted  that  in  any  given  period  of  our 
^>  lives  we  are  best  satisfied  with  the  conditions  and 
circumstances  that  naturally  surround  us  at  that  period. 
The  youth  wishes  that  he  might  always  be  a  youth,  the 
young  man  wishes  that  he  might  always  be  twenty-five. 
The  mature  man  thinks  he  would  like  to  stop  just  where 
he  is,  and  forever  remain  at  the  height  and  glory  of  his 
powers,  but  the  old  man  thinks  the  best  time  to  stop  is 
when  the  labor  of  life  is  done  and  he  can  sit  down  and 
enjoy  rest.  It  is  the  old  man  alone  whose  wish  is  granted. 
He  is  permitted  to  rest,  and,  as  he  has  nothing  to  do  but 
rest  and  feast  his  soul  on  divine  beauty,  he  is  not  partic- 
ular whether  he  takes  that  rest  and  drinks  in  that  beauty 
while  gazing  at  the  sunset  of  this  life  or  the  sunrise  of  the 
next. 

Contentment  is  the  natural  condition    of  the   human 
mind.     Discontent  is  an  abnormal  condition,  and  the  ten- 

596 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

dency  to  be  satisfied  with  present  conditions  and  circum- 
stances descends  into  the  minuter  relations  of  life.  In 
summer  we  feel  that  we  could  not  possibly  endure  the 
winter,  but  when  the  winter  comes  there  comes  with  it 
new  pleasures  and  delights  which  we  would  not  exchange 
for  those  of  the  summer.  Even  on  a  beautiful  morning 
we  are  apt  to  wish  it  would  always  remain  morning,  and 
when  enjoying  ourselves  at  some  evening  entertainment 
we  think  the  evening  the  most  delightful  part  of  the  day. 

This  principle  in  our  nature  manifests  itself  still  more 
forcibly  in  old  age.  When  we  reach  that  period  we  are  in 
that  condition  spiritually  as  well  as  physically  in  which 
the  only  pleasures  that  we  can  enjoy,  or  that  we  desire 
to  be  able  to  enjoy,  are  just  those  which  are  given  us. 

In  the  process  of  death  we  see  that  the  lowest  powers 
die  first.  If  the  face  of  the  dying  be  watched  there  will 
be  seen  to  play  over  it,  in  regular  succession,  the  expres- 
sion of  the  various  faculties  in  the  order  of  their  rank. 
The  last  to  die  are  the  moral  and  religious. 

These  leave  their  divine  impress  upon  the  countenance, 
hence  the  calm,  holy,  and  serene  look  so  often  seen  upon 
the  faces  of  the  dead. 

The  terror  of  death  recedes  just  as  fast  as  we  approach 
it,  and  when  we  reach  the  last  stage  of  decay  the  dark 
river  is  found  to  be  illumined  by  the  mirrored  stars  of 
faith. 


597 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

JHERE  are  joys  in  age  which  youth   cannot  know. 

^  They  come  not  as  miserable  compensations  for 
infirmity,  but  they  are  the  ones  which  approach  nearest  to 
perfection.  They  come  as  a  free  gift ;  those  of  youth  and 
manhood  must  be  won  by  toil.  The  youth  finds  no  joy 
in  rest  nor  in  meditation,  for  his  history  is  unwritten  and 
he  has  nothing  to  meditate  upon.  A  feverish  ambition 
burns  in  the  brain  of  the  young  man,  for  he  feels  that  he 
has  everything  to  accomplish  in  a  few  short  years,  and 
whatever  joy  he  receives  he  must  receive  it  discounted 
at  the  bank  of  toil. 

Youth  and  manhood  have  their  joys,  pure  and  deep 
and  holy.  Joy  is  the  only  natural  and  normal  condition  of 
every  human  soul  through  every  hour  of  its  being  from  the 
cradle  to  eternity,  and  yet  we  must  draw  this  wide  distinc- 
tion between  the  joys  of  youth  and  those  of  age.  The 
former  have  in  them  the  element  of  exhaustion,  and  are 
allied  to  those  of  intoxication,  while  the  latter  seem  in 
their  very  nature  strength-giving.  Age  derives  no  mean 
joy  from  tracing  through  their  complex  evolutions  the 
great  events  of  human  history.  It  is  to  age  alone  that 
these  great  events  are  visible  from  their  inception  to  their 
completion.  Where  age  beholds  beauty,  order,  and  divin- 
ity, youth  beholds  but  fragments,  chaos,  and  chance.  The 
old  man  derives  a  conviction  from  his  long  experience  and 
observation  that  "  there's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends." 
He  sees,  as  youth  cannot  see,  the  beauty  and  significance 

598 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

of  a  life  completed.  To  him  death  is  but  the  crowning  act 
in  life's  great  drama,  the  opening  of  a  golden  gate  at  the 
end  of  life's  narrow  lane. 


t2  and  death  are  counterparts  of  each  other.  There 
are  those,  however,  who  believe  that  physical 
death  came  to  man  as  a  punishment  for  sin,  and  that  had 
it  not  been  for  sin,  all  mankind  would  have  lived  eternally 
upon  the  earth.  But  the  law  that  dooms  man  to  physical 
death  is  the  same  which  dooms  the  animalcule.  If  the 
coral  reefs  were  in  process  of  formation  when  the  first  sin 
was  committed  it  was  because  the  corals  were  dying  then. 
Did  not  death  obtain  among  the  finny  tribes  of  the  ocean, 
perhaps  a  single  year  would  be  sufficient  to  crowd  the  deep 
to  overflowing  ;  but  if  the  animals  were  dying,  then  must 
not  all  which  is  subject  to  the  organic  law  have  died  also  ? 
Man  is  as  subject  to  the  organic  law  as  any  other  member 
of  the  animal  kingdom.  He  eats  and  drinks  and  breathes 
and  sleeps  as  they  do.  Some  of  these  animals  are  not  only 
made  on  the  same  general  plan  as  man,  but  they  possess 
every  physical  organ  corresponding  in  position  and  action, 
and  both  animals  and  man  owe  their  lives  to  the  vital 
action  in  these  organs. 

Now  can  anyone  believe  that  the  great  process  of  vital 
action  in  man,  of  digestion  and  respiration,  was  governed 
by  some  other  principle  before  he  did  wrong  for  the  first 

599 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

time,  and  was  afterwards  changed  ?  Of  all  the  outgrown 
doctrines  of  dogmatic  theology,  this  must  be  regarded  as 
the  most  childish  and  unscientific.  We  must  not  be  mis- 
led by  creeds  which  are  at  variance  with  natural  law.  We 
must  not  regard  death  as  a  penal  expedient.  It  can  afford 
us  no  hope  or  consolation  to  regard  it  as  such.  Human 
death  is  as  much  an  ordinance  of  nature  as  the  fading  of 
the  rainbow  or  the  withering  of  the  rose.  The  doom  of 
eternal  change  is  written  with  a  pen  divine  upon  all  that 
lives.  We  can  regard  death  only  as  a  voyage  that  sepa- 
rates us  from  those  we  love.  We  gaze  upon  a  face  while 
over  it  there  falls  a  stillness  deeper  than  slumber,  and  the 
last  smile  that  reaches  us  from  that  receding  spirit  is  like 
the  waving  of  a  signal  far  out  at  sea.  The  ship  sinks  be- 
neath the  horizon  into  the  unknown  beyond,  and  with  sad 
steps  we  move  away  from  the  dark  wharf,  not  knowing 
whence  our  friend  has  gone. 

The  doctrine  which  teaches  that  physical  death  is  a 
punishment  for  sin,  we  believe,  has  done  much  to  weaken 
the  faith  of  mankind  in  the  doctrine  of  immortality,  by 
giving  to  it  the  air  of  superstition.  A  genuine  outgrowth 
of  man's  nature  cannot  be  at  variance  with  the  highest 
philosophy.  Man  is  the  highest  specimen  in  the  great  cab- 
inet of  natural  history,  the  chrysalis  that  holds  a  proph- 
ecy of  higher  environments. 

We  must  look  beyond  the  fact  of  death  for  hope.  We 
must  look  to  the  analysis  of  that  which  suffers  the  change, 

600 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

and  see  if  its  nature  and  relations  be  such  that  death  can 
doom  it  to  oblivion. 

In  our  next  chapter  we  shall  try  to  show  that  man's 
nature  itself  holds  the  credentials  of  his  immortality  ;  that 
just  as  the  nature  of  the  lungs  would  prove  the  existence 
of  air,  so  man's  spiritual  organization  proves  the  existence 
of  God  and  the  fact  of  immortality. 

But  in  this  chapter  we  are  considering  only  the  mid- 
night tragedy  of  death,  in  which  the  scenery  is  dark  and 
the  actors  are  cruel.  We  have  reason  to  believe,  however, 
that  the  curtain  falls  before  the  play  is  ended,  for  the  last 
scene  is  too  stupendous  for  the  stage  appliances  of  earth. 
The  lights  are  too  dull  to  represent  the  glory  of  that  sub- 
lime tableau.  Hence  the  cunning  plot,  that  makes  the 
curtain  fall  with  a  rush  that  extinguishes  the  lights  and 
leaves  the  death-bed  watchers  frantic  and  bathed  in  tears 
—  a  wailing  audience  in  a  darkened  theater. 

' '  Lo  !   'tis  a  gala  night 

Within  the  lonesome  latter  years  ! 
An  angel  throng,  bewinged,  bedight 
In  veils,  and  drowned  in  tears, 
Sit  in  a  theater  of  hopes  and  fears, 
While  the  orchestra  breathes  fitfully 
The  music  of  the  spheres. 

"  Mimes,  in  the  form  of  God  on  high, 

Mutter  and  mumble  low, 
And  hither  and  thither  fly  ; 

Mere  puppets  they,  who  come  and  go 
601 


Our  Last  Farewell  of  Home. 

At  bidding  of  vast  formless  things 
That  shift  the  scenery  to  and  fro, 

Flapping  from  out  their  condor  wings 
Invisible  woe  ! 

That  motley  drama  !  ah,  be  sure 

It  shall  riot  be  forgot ! 
With  its  phantom  chased  for  evermore, 

By  a  crowd  that  seifce  it  riot, 
Through  a  circle  that  ever  returneth  in 

To  the  self-same  spot ; 
And  much  of  madness,  and  more  of  sin, 

And  horror,  the  soul  of  the  plot ! 

"  But  see,  amid  the  mimic  rout 

A  crawling  shape  intrude  ! 
A  blood-red  thing  that  writhes  from  ovit 

The  scenic  solitude  ! 
It  writhes  !  —  it  writhes  !  —  with  mortal  pangs 

The  mimes  become  its  food, 
And  the  seraphs  sob  at  vermin  fangs 

In  human  gore  imbued. 

•'  Out  —  out  are  the  lights,  — out  all ! 

And  over  each  quivering  form, 
The  curtain,  a  funeral  pall, 

Comes  down  with  the  rush  of  a  storm  — 
And  the  angels  all  pallid  and  wan, 

Uprising,  unveiling,  affirm 
That  the  play  is  the  tragedy  '  Man,' 

And  its  hero  the  Conqueror  Worm." 


602 


CHAPTER    FIFTY-ONE. 


Heaven  Our  Home. 


have  thought  it  expedient  to  consider  this 
chapter  wholly  in  the  light  of  reason.  And 
should  the  devout  Christian  feel  that  the  cold- 
ness of  its  logic  is  inconsistent  with  the  subject,  we  assure 
him  that  it  is  not  because  we  are  not  in  the  fullest  sym- 
pathy with  the  Christian  ideal,  but  because  we  have  pur- 
posely aimed  to  treat  the  subject  from  the  standpoint  of 
philosophy. 

This  is  why  we  have  avoided  all  reference  to  scriptural 
authority,  even  where  such  reference  would  seem  pecul- 
iarly appropriate. 

It  is  the  skeptic  who  most  requires  to  be  convinced 
of  the  cardinal  truths  of  religion.  But  with  him  scrip- 
tural evidence  has  little  weight,  while  he  is  usually  proud 
of  his  dialectic  attainments.  So  we  believe  the  thoughtful 
Christian  will  rejoice  in  the  method  we  have  chosen. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  in  this  chapter  to  attempt  any 
description  of  that  place  or  condition  toward  which  the 
instinct  of  faith  in  all  ages  has  pointed  mankind.  Our 
efforts  will  be  simply  to  satisfy  inquiring  minds  that  the 

605 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

objective  of  that  universal  instinct  through  which  human- 
ity looks  Godward  and  heavenward,  is  real  and  not  a  delu- 
sion. The  great  need  of  our  age  is  a  firm  belief  in  the 
reality  of  man's  religious  nature.  The  most  pernicious 
effects  of  modern  skepticism  are  seen  in  its  attempts  to 
undermine  this  belief.  Let  mankind  once  be  firmly  con- 
vinced on  scientific  and  philosophical  grounds  that  man  is 
a  religious  being,  that  there  is  a  real  significance  in  his  reli- 
gious intuitions,  that  these  intuitions  spring  from  facul- 
ties that  correspond  to  objective  realities,  and  that  his 
earthly  home  foreshadows  an  eternal  home,  and  the  ques- 
tion of  creed  will  take  care  of  itself. 


M-JOWEVER  painful  may  be  the  fact,  it  cannot  be 
V_  denied  that  the  startling  interrogations  of  the 
present  age  mean  something  more  than  can  be  answered 
by  the  old  time  exhortation.  The  problem  of  human  des- 
tiny is  one  that  deepens  with  the  evolutions  of  history.  The 
hour  has  come  when  the  great  question  must  be  discussed 
in  prose  instead  of  poetry.  The  awakened  spirit  of  doubt 
to-day  confronts  religion  with  the  awful  questions:  "Is 
there  a  God?"  "Is  there  a  heaven?"  "Is  it  true  that 
the  earth-home  is  but  a  type,  a  working  model,  of  '  a  home 
to  be'?" 

The  answer  to  these  questions  must  be  accompanied 
by  reasons  that  appeal  to  human  logic,  for,  in  the  flashing 

GOG 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

revelations  of  modern  science,  the  eye  of  faith  has  seemed 
to  grow  dim. 

And  yet  it  is  but  the  clamor  of  the  immortal  instinct 
itself  that  gives  rise  to  these  questions,  for  the  belief  in 
God  and  immortality  is  as  universal  as  that  in  obligation 
and  human  rights.  Every  human  heart  is  the  theater  of 
this  immortal  instinct.  We  care  not  how  the  heart  may  be 
blinded  with  the  self-deception  of  atheism, —  and  atheism  is 
always  and  necessarily  self-deception, —  when  the  mask  is 
torn  off  we  find  immortality  written  there. 

We  do  not  mean  that  the  human  heart  has  not  also 
been  the  theater  of  doubt  and  fear.  God  seems  to  have 
ordained  that  in  every  department  of  life  we  should  find 
the  hand  of  truth  and  grasp  it  in  the  dark.  Into  the 
unanswering  ear  of  the  ages  man  has  poured  his  wailing 
cry.  Through  the  dark  gorges  he  has  climbed  to  the 
star-lit  height  whence  a  struggling  beam  has  fallen  upon 
the  midnight  of  human  history. 

He  has  listened  in  the  darkness 

To  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
He  has  solved  night's  awful  secret 

Through  the  alchemy  of  fears. 

From  the  dawn  of  time  he  has  been  trying  to  say 
father  ;  and  shall  we  say  that  his  lisping  annuls  the  infinite 
argument  of  instinct  ?  Who  would  question  the  reality  of 
the  parental  instinct  when  once  he  had  heard  the  unsuc- 
cessful attempt  of  the  little  child  to  speak  the  honored  title? 

607 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

As  the  child  instinctively  questions  his  father  concern- 
ing the  great  untried  future  of  his  life,  so  humanity  with 
the  same  instinct  pours  its  anxious  yearning  into  the  ear 
of  the  universal  father. 

3  HALL  man  live  beyond  the  grave  ?  was  the  invol- 
untary question  of  startled  humanity  in  the 
shadow  of  the  first  death.  That  question  was  asked,  not 
of  the  empty  air,  not  of  the  silent  wood,  not  in  the  forget- 
fulness  of  self-communing  curiosity  ;  but  beneath  the  eter- 
nal stars,  upon  the  waiting  knee  of  faith,  it  was  whispered 
into  an  unseen  ear.  "  '  If  a  man  die,  shall  he  live  again  ?  ' 
is  a  question  older  than  Job,  newer  than  the  latest  grave." 
Formulated  theology  has  entertained  it  as  the  fundamen- 
tal problem,  but  cannot  settle  it.  Science  has  grappled 
with  it  in  vain.  Above  the  proudest  flights  of  reason, 
above  the  sweep  of  tube  and  lens,  beyond  the  language 
of  the  spectroscope,  where  human  eye  has  never  rested,  lies 
the  mysterious  realm  through  the  silent  gate  of  death. 

The  instinct  of  immortality  was  not  born  of  any  creed. 
The  Church  cannot  claim  it  as  her  offspring.  It  is  the  nec- 
essary outgrowth  of  the  human  organization.  It  was  old 
when  love  for  the  first  time  bent  over  the  couch  of  death 
and  left  its  roses  and  kisses  there.  In  spite  of  conflicting 
creeds  and  dogmas,  the  universal  soul  of  man  rebels 
against  oblivion  with  an  instinct  that  implicates  nature. 
Either  love  and  devotion  and  honor  and  heroism  and 

608 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

genius  are  immortal,  or  nature,  at  whose  hands  we  receive 
the  unanswerable  instinct,  is  false.  The  argument  of  in- 
stinct is  in  its  very  nature  conclusive.  It  is  of  the  same 
nature  as  that  of  sense. 

This  is  an  age  peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  charge  of 
superstition.  Skepticism  is  rife  among  the  masses,  but  this 
fact  is  itself  fraught  with  a  weighty  meaning.  "History 
repeats  itself"  is  an  adage,  but  its  vast  significance  is  under- 
stood and  felt  by  few  souls.  The  life  of  nature  is  but  the 
ceaseless  movement  round  a  spiral,  a  circle  with  an  ever 
increasing  diameter.  Through  doubts  and  questions  the 
world  crept  into  the  light  of  faith.  One  grand  revolution 
of  the  divinely  ordained  process  has  been  completed  and 
doubts  and  questions  now  begin  again,  but  this  time 
farther  from  the  center,  on  a  grander  scale. 

These  doubts  and  questionings  will  lead  humanity  to 
prouder  heights  and  more  glorious  beatitudes  when  they 
shall  have  completed  another  revolution.  The  world's 
highest  faith  to-day  began  in  the  doubts  and  questions  of 
brutal  ignorance.  What,  then,  shall  be  the  issue  of  those 
which  were  born  of  the  telescope  and  the  laboratory  ? 
The  proud  champions  of  unbelief  are  doing  a  grand  work. 
Every  triumph  of  Ingersoll  will  in  the  great  revolutions 
of  God's  design  be  found  to  be  a  sermon  for  the  truth.  He 
is  fast  defeating  his  own  ends  by  hastening  the  world  over 
its  second  desert  of  doubt. 

Science  will  struggle  on   with  glass  and   lens  till  it 

609 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

learns  that  love  gives  no  lines  in  the  spectroscope,  that 
honor  is  without  physical  properties,  and  conscience  is 
unaffected  by  the  galvanic  current. 

Skeptical  scientists  object  to  the  doctrine  of  immor- 
tality, because  they  cannot  demonstrate  it  with  their  sci- 
ence. We  cannot  scientifically  demonstrate  that  we  love 
our  friends,  but  we  know  we  love  them.  We  cannot  prove 
that  beauty  exists,  yet  do  we  not  know  that  it  exists  ?  It 
may  be  that  the  scientist  is  unable  to  prove  the  existence 
of  God,  but  every  spirit  knows  that  God  is.  No  mathe- 
matical formula  can  prove  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
but  the  unformulated  science  of  intuition  assures  it. 

The  conservatism  of  the  universal  mind  retains  the 
achievements  of  science,  and  will,  by  and  by,  use  them  in 
the  demonstration  of  those  very  truths  which  now  they 
are  used  to  disprove. 

\  *  fHETHER  against  the  will  of  science,  or  in  accord- 
^  ance  with  it,  her  grandest  revelation  is  that  the 
Christian  religion   is  based   in  the  organic  constitution  of 
man. 

Every  element  of  the  soul,  every  faculty  of  the  mind, 
has  its  mate  in  the  form  of  a  cosmical  law.  We  possess 
the  faculty  of  reason,  and  accordingly  there  exists  the 
law  of  causation.  We  possess  an  instinctive  love  of 
music,  a  distinct  and  separate  faculty  of  the  mind,  and 
there  exists  the  law  of  harmony.  Our  mathematical 

610 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

instinct  finds  its  counterpart  in  the  eternal  relations  of 
time  and  space,  number  and  quantity.  There  are  just 
as  many  faculties  of  the  mind,  hence  functions  of  the 
brain,  as  there  are  laws  in  the  universe.  No  more,  no 
less.  There  is  no  universal  principle  that  has  not  its 
representative  organ  in  the  human  brain.  Hence  the 
mental  faculties  and  the  natural  laws  are  mutual  keys. 
We  believe  that  the  evolutionists  have  unnecessarily 
weakened  their  own  cause  by  a  false  definition  of  faculty. 
They  would  make  the  primitive  faculties  of  the  mind  only 
so  many  habits.  But  the  question  arises,  whence  the  first 
impulse  that  was  the  necessary  antecedent  to  the  first  act 
of  the  faculty  ?  Acts  cannot  become  habitual  nor  heredi- 
tary until  they  have  been  performed  at  least  once.  But 
it  requires  a  faculty  to  perform  them  for  the  first  time. 
Hence  the  essential  characteristics  of  the  faculty  —  the 
power  to  give  impulses  and  the  skill  to  perform  —  must 
have  existed  prior  to  the  influences  of  habit  and  heredity. 
The  fact  of  manifestation  through  the  instrumentality  of 
a  cerebral  organ  is  the  one  and  only  unmistakable  evi- 
dence of  a  primitive  faculty. 

Light  is  doubtless  the  natural  agency  by  which  the 
power  of  vision  has  been  developed.  Yet  light  could  no 
more  originate  that  germ  of  a  distinct  mental  faculty  that 
lies  behind  all  phenomena  of  vision,  and  by  which  we 
translate  those  phenomena,  than  it  could  create  the  acorn 
whose  involved  potency  it  simply  evolves.  The  eye  existed 

611 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

potentially  or  the  light  could  not  have  developed  it.  Man 
is  as  he  is  because  of  his  environments,  but  we  cannot  say 
that  man  is  because  of  his  environments.  We  are  at  least 
driven  to  the  assumption  that  matter  held  a  human  po- 
tency independent  of  all  environment.  That  potency  was 
the  germs  of  human  faculties,  God-created  and  God-im- 
planted. The  magic  finger  of  the  sunbeam  touched  them 
and  they  awoke,  and  hammering  upon  the  anvils  of  mat- 
ter began  to  forge,  from  the  materials  of  their  environ- 
ments, the  only  weapons  they  can  use, —  organs.  Thus  we 
see  why  an  organ  is  the  only  infallible  criterion  and  cre- 
dential of  a  faculty.  And  we  see  the  force  of  the  foregoing 
reasoning  when  we  remember  that  the  human  brain  holds 
an  organ  whose  function  is  divine  worship.  Environ- 
ments could  not  have  created  that  organ.  They  could  only 
have  developed  it.  Its  "living  germ  "  lay  back  of  all  en- 
vironments, as  a  divine  prophecy,  and  as  proof  of  the 
reality  of  that  to  which  it  corresponded. 

Since  faculties  are  as  their  organs,  and  since  organs 
are  formed  by  the  living  principle,  out  of  the  material  of 
their  environments,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  man  should 
be  as  his  environments.  Different  environments  would 
doubtless  have  caused  a  different  mode  of  action  in  the 
faculty  of  divine  worship.  Indeed,  we  have  a  proof  of 
this.  In  the  heathen  mind  this  faculty  gives  an  instinc- 
tive desire  to  find  an  objective  in  idols  of  wTood  and  stone. 
Yet  after  all  the  essence  of  its  action  is  divine  worship. 

612 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

And  there  is  a  limit  beyond  which  environments  cannot 
produce  modifications.  They  may,  however,  thwart  the 
effort  of  the  faculty  to  forge  a  material  organ,  hence  the 
significance  of  extinct  species. 

I  HE  atheist  tells  us  there  is  no  God,  but  science  puts 

^  its  ringer  on  the  God-organ,  an  organ  whose  func- 
tion it  is  to  produce  that  moral  sensation  known  as  rever- 
ence for  God.  It  produces  this  effect  invariably  in  savage 
and  in  civilized  man.  Has  Nature  thus  erred  ?  Has  she 
given  us  a  God-organ,  and  no  God  to  meet  its  demand  ? 
a  stomach  forever  doomed  to  hunger  in  the  presence  of 
imaginary  food  ;  lungs  strangling  for  air  in  the  depths  of 
a  universal  vacuum  ;  an  ear  forever  straining  to  catch  the 
voice  of  harmony  while  nature  shrinks  beneath  the  wing 
of  everlasting  silence  ;  an  eye  forever  gazing  into  the 
blackness  of  universal  night,  while  no  wave  of  ether 
touches  with  its  trembling  fingers  the  bosom  of  the  stars  ? 

What  should  we  say  of  such  inconsistency  in  Nature  ? 
And  yet  to  give  us  a  love  of  God,  when  there  is  no  God 
to  love,  would  be  as  base  a  falsehood.  Every  one  believes 
in  the  eternal  consistency  of  Nature.  The  atheist  has  but 
transferred  his  worship  from  God  to  Nature,  and  no  argu- 
ment can  convince  him  that  she  would  for  once  be  incon- 
sistent, but  he  must  tell  us  why  she  gave  us  a  God-organ 
and  no  God. 

Every  precept  and  every  exhortation  of  the  Christian 

613 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

religion  is  the  recognition  of  some  particular  function  of 
our  being,  and  every  prohibition  is  the  recognition  of  its 
liability  to  perverted  or  diseased  action. 

The  ethics  of  the  Christian  religion  is  based  on  the 
principle  of  right  and  wrong,  and  science  lays  its  finger  on 
the  organ  of  conscientiousness.  Prayer  is  as  much  an 
organic  function  of  the  soul  as  digestion  is  of  the  physical 
system,  and  for  the  same  reason  there  is  a  prayer-organ. 

Will  the  atheist  tell  us  that  nature  has  given  us  a 
prayer-organ  and  has  given  us  nothing  to  pray  to?  One 
has  said  that  "  if  there  were  no  God,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  invent  one,"  for  the  prayer-organ  demands  a  God 
as  much  as  the  lungs  demand  air. 

Christ  said,  "  Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself,"  which  was 
only  the  organic  language  of  benevolence.  He  taught  the 
doctrine  of  spirituality,  and  science  points  to  the  organ 
of  spirituality.  And  so  it  is  that  every  teaching  of  Chris- 
tianity responds  to  an  organic  necessity  of  our  being.  The 
decalogue  is  written  on  every  human  brain.  Immortality 
is  an  organic  instinct.  As  the  migratory  bird  flies  toward 
the  south  guided  by  the  faultless  pilot  instinct,  so  the  soul 
flies  heavenward  by  an  instinct  as  faultless. 

Christianity  is  a  reality  or  our  instincts  are  false. 
God  lives  or  nature  lies.  We  leave  our  earthly  home  but 
to  find  a  better  and  a  brighter  one,  or  over  all  that  is 
there  hang  the  spectral  lenses  of  deception,  and  falsehood's 
elements  were  blended  in  the  womb  of  being. 

614 


Heaven  Our  Home. 

\  i  I HETHER  heaven  be  a  material  place  or  a  spiritual 
^  condition  is  a  problem  that  falls  outside  the  pale 
of  our  intuitions.  For  aught  we  can  know,  it  may  be  the 
grand  center  of  centers  around  which  revolve  in  eternal 
gyrations  the  unmeasured  systems.  Or  it  may  be  that  it 
exists  independently  of  space,  that  its  place  is  wholly 
spiritual,  and  that  just  under  the  thin  veil  of  materiality 
around  us,  above  us,  and  beneath  us  lies  the  ineffable  realm 
of  the  Eternal. 

Whatever  may  be  the  essence  of  heaven,  we  may  rest 
assured  that  it  will  afford  the  opportunities  and  conditions 
of  eternal  soul  growth.  The  buds  that  on  earth  have 
fallen  before  their  time  shall  blossom  there  in  fadeless 
beauty.  Genius  shall  exhibit  its  divine  allegiance,  and 
love  shall  be  crowned  the  eternal  queen. 

There  comes  a  time  to  the  reverent;  soul  when  the  veil 
is  lifted,  and  in  the  awful  hush  of  that  moment  we  call 
death,  when  the  fetters  are  falling  from  the  spirit's  limbs, 
amid  strains  of  music  soft  as  the  rustle  of  wings,  it  is  per- 
mitted to  look  upon  the  unveiled  splendor.  And  often, 
very  often,  it  beckons  to  us  and  whispers  with  its  latest 
breath,  "  I  hear  them  now,"  always  laying  peculiar  stress 
upon  the  word  "now,"  which  indicates  that  through  the 
presence  of  this  divine  instinct  it  had  been  listening.  On 
how  many  a  dying  couch  have  the  sacred  words,  "  The 
pure  in  heart  shall  see  God,"  found  their  last  and  best 
verification  ! 

615 


Heaven  Our  Home, 

But  science  cannot  reproduce  the  vision  of  the  dying. 
Their  own  faint  whispers  cannot  portray  it.  We  must  go 
down  to  the  dark  water.  The  details  of  the  passage  are 
known  only  to  those  who  embark  in  the  unseen  ship.  We 
cannot  tell  how,  nor  when,  nor  where,  nor  amid  what 
sights  and  sounds,  we  shall  enter  the  unseen  realm.  We 
only  know  that  while  beyond  the  chill  flood  silence 
reigneth  and 

No  sound  of  gently  dipping  oar 
Hints  to  us  of  the  other  shore, 

there  is  still  the  voice  of  a  divine  fact  within  that 
whispers,  "It  is  well."  The  spirit  lays  its  listening  ear 
against  the  great  heart  of  being,  and  learns  an  awful  secret 
that  it  cannot  tell,  —  a  secret,  at  the  sound  of  which  it  leaps 
triumphant  from  the  arms  of  pain,  flame-wreathed  and 
singing,  thorn-crowned  and  rejoicing. 

"  It  must  be  so  :   Plato,  thou  reasonest  well, 

Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 

This  longing  after  immortality? 

Or  whence  this  secret  dread  and  inward  horror 

Of  falling  into  naught  ?     Why  shrinks  the  soul 

Back  on  itself,  and  startles  at  destruction  ? 

'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us  ; 

'Tis  heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter     \V\ 

And  intimates  eternity  to  man."  V  \ 


616  W 


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